Just a man and his will to survive
by me.fergie
Summary: Sequel to "I didn't mean to fall from grace". Jim has left Brighton and is struggling to survive. Watch him as he makes his way from rock bottom to... Jim Moriarty, Consulting Criminal. Not for the faint-hearted.
1. Tell the world I'm coming home

Hellou everyone. New story. Sequel to _I didn't mean to fall from grace._ You should kinda read that one first. Now, the plot for this story is ready, so it only needs to be written, so updates should be fairly regular (unless I get a writer's block). My lovely beta has been quite naughty these past days (going partying when she should read my works, can you imagine?), so apart from the prologue nothing's been beta'ed yet. Anyways. Reviews make me happy, so, please, review? I am currently reading a bunch of stories where I am not sure they're going to be updated anymore. You don't want that to happen, now, do you? ;)**  
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**Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belongs to ACD. Sherlock to the BBC and the amazing Mofftiss. Gods. I own nothing but my OCs. I am not making any profit from this. **

**Warnings: **There will be some nasty stuff coming along your way if you decide to read this. The rating will eventually rise. Jim Whump.**  
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**The title of this fic is from Survivor's _Eye of the Tiger._**

**The title of this chapter is taken from P. Diddy's _Coming Home._  
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**Prologue: Tell the world I'm coming home  
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Rain. Rain. Rain. As James Moriarty, or Jim, looked out of the window, he found it very fitting for what he felt inside. Sadness, somehow. _Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday. _(1) He was sad. He shouldn't be here. But he was. On a train. Back to Dublin. _Back where I belong. _He had left everything behind now. Disappeared. Brighton was behind him. England was behind him. Back in Ireland. Safe? He had nowhere to go, and no real plan of what he would do once he was there. He had only wanted to go back there because the city held so many happy memories to him. When he was a child, with his mam and da, poor, but happy. But then all had changed. His father had been killed, his mother forced to marry a man she didn't love. A man who had abused her and Jim. And who had ultimately killed her. And as if that wasn't bad enough, also at school, Jim had been bullied. It had culminated in a vicious beating that had left him hospitalized.

And then Jim Moriarty had snapped. He had killed them both. The kid from school, Carl Powers. His stepfather, Marlon Brook. He was a murderer. But, in Jim's mind, both had deserved it. And Jim's mind was nothing short of brilliant. Only, he had never had the chance to prove it. Until now. He had made both kills look like accidents. And it had worked, better than Jim could have foreseen. But killing Brook had left him with nothing. Of course he didn't inherit the money. It went to a charity for women in abusive relationships. _Bastard. Liar._ And then Jim had split. It probably wasn't the best idea to go back to Dublin, because people who knew him would know where he would go. The police was probably just now looking for him, asking his friends. Well, friend. Singular. Sorcha Moran. But she wouldn't tell anybody. She knew the truth. And probably didn't want to get into any further trouble with a boy who she knew had killed two people. (It never once occurred to Jim that Sorcha would keep her mouth about his possible whereabouts shut only to protect him.) So, Jim was relatively safe from prosecution. But that was it. He had no idea what he would do now, with no money, no friends, no nothing. The last of the money that his mother had earned Jim had spent on this train ticket. He had nothing but an empty wallet and the clothes he was wearing. Everything else, he had left behind. To start a new life. And even if he had no idea what he would do in this brand-new life, he knew one thing.

Never again would anyone abuse him. He would survive.

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(1) P. Diddy - _Coming Home_

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**This was the Prologue. Like? **


	2. Back where I belong, yeah

**Because the Prologue was so short, I provide you here with Chapter one  
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**Disclaimer: See Prologue.  
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**Title: Taken from P. Diddy's _Coming Home_  
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**Chapter One: Back where I belong, yeah I never felt so strong**

The sun had started shining when the train arrived in Dublin. Jim got off, head lowered, trying not to draw any attention to himself. But nobody saw him. Or, noticed him, more likely. Just a teenager travelling. Jim waited until the area had cleared, and then went to the nearest phone booth. During the last half an hour of the journey, he had formed some sort of a plan. He would try and find his grand-parents. They had disowned his parents like, what, almost twenty years ago; religious issues were still prominent in Ireland, but… maybe if they saw their grand-child… and besides, his mother's parents didn't even know of their daughter's dead. He needed to tell them. Of course, he was putting himself into danger here; police would surely contact his family, and if he went there, they would know he was back in Ireland and look here for him. But he needed to do it. That would be the first thing to do, find Mrs and Mr Murphy. Then- and his heart beat more loudly at the simple thought of it- he would go and find his father's parents. Jim's father had died so early that Jim had only vague memories left. And Sean Moriarty's name was not mentioned in the Brook household. Now finally, he would go and find his father's parents. He was desperate for stories about his da. Childhood stuff. They were second on his list. And he was sure, once they would see him, they would not chase him away. He looked so much like his father since his hair had grown back, he wouldn't even need to introduce himself. They would know. But first the Murphys. He looked for the bakery first. But there was no Murphy's bakery anymore; figures, they were probably too old to work that job now. But Jim remembered the approximate location of the bakery, so he looked for a family called Murphy who lived close by that street. Niall and Victoria Murphy. Definitely. His mother's second name was Victoria. He grabbed a pen that somebody had forgotten and scribbled the address down on the palm of his right hand. Terrible… since Carl Powers had broken all five fingers on his left hand, he had trouble writing. It looked as if he could barely hold a pen. It was frustrating… He then went back to the phonebook and looked for the Moriartys. Caoilinn and Conor Moriarty. They lived just around the corner from the station. That came as a mild shock, and Jim felt his knees shaking. Oh God, soon he would see his grandparents. It had looked so easy when he was still on the train, but now… He had to swallow. But really, he had killed two people, could this really be more difficult? _Yes._

* * *

The house was beautiful. Jim checked the name on the letterbox. C. Moriarty. Okay, it was the right house. Should he ring the bell? Should he have called first? No. This was the moment. He walked through the front yard. _Roses. Herbs. _He rang the bell.

"Did you forget something, love?" a female voice said when the door opened. An old female voice. Jim's heart beat faster. _Maimeó__…_ She looked at him, "Sean?" Then she shook her head, "No, of course not. I'm sorry, you remind me of... never mind… what can I do for you?"

Jim swallowed; everybody who had known his father had told him how much they looked alike, and he had seen it on pictures, but to actually hear it… He swallowed again and said, "I'm James. Sean's son…" He lowered his head, wishing he had never stopped by. "I just wanted to… I'm your grand-son…"

The look on her face had changed, "Oh, James, I am sorry… You're not. You are looking for my husband's brother… Sean was my husband's nephew."

"Oh… oh… I see… I'm sorry to have bothered you… Could you tell me where I can find them?"

"I… I really don't know how to tell you… They're dead… Éamonn died ten years ago… Shortly after your father… and Mary… last year. Cancer."

"Oh… okay, I… thank you." He turned away. "Well, have a nice day."

"Wait a second, James… Why are you looking for them? Did something happen?"

"No, I… I just wanted to… meet them. You know, I was young when my da died, and… I thought maybe they could tell me a bit about him… Look at pictures and all…" He shrugged. "But, it's okay, really… I should go now."

"You can stay here and wait for my husband if you like. He sure knows a few stories about your da. I mean, they weren't that close, but…"

Jim shook his head, "No, really not… I should leave. I… well, thank you for the information…" He walked back through the front yard. He didn't really know why he didn't want to talk to the husband, but, well, he was just the brother of a parent. Not a parent. And not that closely related to Jim. Not related closely to Sean. What did he know? He sighed. No stories, no pictures then. Nothing.

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He walked through town for an hour before he went to the Murphys. This time, he immediately rang the bell, not hesitating. Those people, they had started everything. Throwing their daughter out because she was in love with a protestant. Given that Sean's parents had made a mistake too. But here it had started.

The door opened. A man, this time. He looked at Jim and immediately frowned. "Yeah?"

"I'm James Moriarty." Jim answered. "I'm your grand-son."

"Yeah, I figured that much. But you're not. I disowned Jamie. Is she here, too?"

"No, sir. I'm actually here… she's dead. She died a few months ago." He was looking for a reaction, any reaction, any sign of regret? Sadness?

Nothing came. "Okay. Anything else? Do you want money? You're not getting any from me."

"Your daughter is dead, sir…"

"Yeah, I got that. You're an orphan, now, but that's none of my business. I have no daughter, never had one since she left with that good-for-nothing heretic. Good day." He slammed the door in Jim's face.

Jim took a deep breath. He had expected at least some display of feelings. But the man hadn't even cared about his daughter's death. Didn't even ask how she died. Brilliant. Son of a bitch. He waited for a minute, waiting for the man to come back, but of course, nothing happened. So he turned away and left again. Well, that was a total fail, both visits.

And now? He was broke, he was hungry, he had nowhere to go. If he was honest, he had actually counted on his paternal grandparents to take him in. But that was out of the question, and he was certainly not going to ask the brother.

But what now? What was he supposed to do now? Starve? No, not yet. He was used to not having much to eat. He could last days without food. Drink was more of a problem. And shelter for the night. God, where would he sleep? Dublin was not safe; he knew it better than anyone. His father, poor as he had been, had been killed by some thugs who wanted the bit of money he had. He needed some place safe to stay. But without money? God, why hadn't he tried to forge Brook's testament? The man had been rich. Jim could have used the money. But he didn't want it, if he was honest. Rather starve on the street. Or be mugged.

He walked through the city until he arrived at the centre. Here the streets were already littered with homeless people. Homeless. Like him. Well, if they were like him, he could as well join them. Sleep on the pavement. It was still cold at nights, but he wouldn't freeze to death. So he started looking for a backstreet, a backyard. He found one that wasn't used.

There, behind the trash containers of a restaurant, he made himself comfy. Cowered into the corner, covered himself with newspapers and used a full rubbish bag as a pillow. The smell was killing him already now, but at least he was hidden from sight. Nobody would find him here until the containers were emptied. As he cuddled into the newspapers, trying to remember the smell of fabric softener that had invaded his nose the last time he had slept in a proper bed, he watched the stars twinkling on the night sky. He was sad. Part of him. That nobody but him seemed to regret his mother's death. That he would probably never find out more about his father. That he had no perspective in life but surviving.

He didn't sleep well that night.

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**There you go. Poor Jim on the streets. But don't worry, he'll get a job soon.  
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	3. I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy

**Happy reading.  
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**Disclaimer: See Prologue  
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**Title: Taken from Queen's _Bohemian Rhapsody_  
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**Chapter Two : ****I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy**

Days passed. Jim did the best he could to find a job, any job. No one would hire him. With no degree whatsoever and looking and smelling like a bum, Jim knew it would be hard. But he had expected that at least somebody would hire him, even if it were just for scrubbing toilets or something along those lines. But no. Twice the door was slammed in his face, three times he had been chased away, one guy had even tried to hit him with his broomstick. Jim tried every restaurant, every pub, every fish-and-chips stand, every school. Nobody would hire him.

He went on like that for four days when finally hunger and exhaustion took over on the fifth day, and he remained lying behind the containers. Why would he get up? Just to be disappointed again? He was hungry, so hungry. His stomach ached like there was no tomorrow, and by now he would kill (again) just to have something he could chew on. Even dry bread would do. Even mouldy bread would do. He was so hungry… He curled himself up in a ball, trying to silence the angry noises his stomach made. _Shut up, for crying out loud. There is no food coming our way. _

Twelve hours later Jim thought he might die. Of course that was nonsense. Humans could last much longer without food. Jim was used to being hungry, yes, but right now, food was all he could think of. Food. _Food. Food, _he murmured to himself as the door to the restaurant opened. He was half hoping they would discover him. They couldn't let him die, now, could they? They had to give him something to eat. But then again…. No, he couldn't bring himself to just call them and beg for food. Rather die than depending on other people again. The door closed again, and already he regretted it. Good lord, he was so hungry… He needed to find something to eat, he was sleeping in the backyard of a fucking restaurant for crying out loud. There should be at least a little something… So he propped himself up and left his hiding, scanning the wall that had given him shelter so far. There was no window he could climb through to get into the restaurant: all of them were much too high up for him. _Nothing again_. He would have dropped to his knees if he hadn't steadied himself on the container. _The container…_ No, no, that was out of the question. He would _not_ eat out of the trash. No, he'd rather starve. He had seen people do it, and he had always felt repulsed, never ever would he sink that low.

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Two days later his determination faltered. He would die if he didn't eat something. He couldn't last any longer.

So, swallowing his pride, he took the last ounce of strength he had and climbed into the container. His mind blanked out as he ripped one of the plastic bags open.

_Don't think, Jim. Don't. You need to survive. You want to survive. Do you? _

Yes.

_Then eat. It's good food. They only chucked that bag out this afternoon after lunch. Just because it's trash to other people… Really, they surely only prepared it this morning, it's still fresh. It's not that bad, Jim. Eat. Given it's not Mrs Moran's delicious Vindaloo, or her stew, but it's food, nevertheless. The children in Africa would be happy to have it. Such a waste. Come on, Jim, eat. EAT. _

He dug his fingers into the bag. Pasta. He could feel it. Noodles with tomato sauce. Oh God, was he really doing this?

_Honestly, Jim, you cannot afford to be picky. You will die if you don't eat. Okay, it's humiliating, but so is dying on the street. Get a grip on yourself, man. It's not that bad. You're ashamed? Get over it. You could have stayed in Brighton. Sorcha offered more than once that you could stay at her place. You refused, too proud to accept this hand-out when the only thing she wanted was to keep you safe. Well, this is the result. You always reap what you sow. Come on, go ahead. _

He brought his hand out of the bag again, his hand full of pasta. It had lost the delicious smell it surely had once possessed. He brought it up to his lips.

_See, it isn't that difficult. Come on, take a bite. _

He was trembling now. No, he couldn't, he just couldn't… But he was so hungry. And he was only human. So he closed his eyes and took a bite.

_There you go, Jim. _

The pasta was cold, but Jim devoured it. A week. It had been a week since he had last eaten anything, and hell, nothing had ever tasted that good. He didn't even take the time to chew before he dug his hand in again and brought another handful of food to his mouth.

_Hahahaha. Oh Jim. You pathetic little shit. Look at you. Eating out of the trash. How very fitting. Guess you finally see that you are nothing but trash either. _

Stop it.

_No, I'm not gonna stop now. You think I told you to eat this because I want you to survive? No, dear Jim. I want you to finally recognize the truth. You are scum. Of course, what else could you be? With your da too weak to defend himself, your mam a fucking cunt, and your grandparents not giving shit about you…._

Stop. It.

_Enjoying your meal, Jim? Yeah, eat, eat the leftovers of better people. You should eat them off the floor. That's where you belong. _

"STOP IT!"

Jim threw the bag away, curling himself up into a ball and… no, he didn't cry. Well, not really. There were no tears. Dry sobs, yeah, screaming, wailing. He had no idea why the voice that had cooed him into eating this shit suddenly had started putting him down like that, but he had the faint idea that it was he himself who had started hating, and the voice was some distant part of his head, out there only to hurt him. Be cruel. He hated himself for having given in to his human instincts. But lord…

Something was thrown into the container, and Jim screamed out in surprise. Only a second later, a face appeared. The owner of the restaurant. And he was angry.

"I can't believe it. You, get out there." Jim steadied himself, but the man pulled his arm and violently dragged him out of the container. "Scum! How many times do I have to tell off one of you?" The sharp edge of the container tore Jim's shirt and cut into his skin as he was pulled out. He didn't even have time to stand on his feet when the owner, definitely not Italian, more likely British, landed a grip on his neck, hard enough to bruise it, hell, to snap it, and shook him. "I am so fed up with you lot. If you want fucking food, pay for it! Get a fucking job! What do you think my costumers will say if they see one of you? They'll never come back!" The grip tightened, causing Jim to scream out in pain, as he was dragged from the yard. "Scream all you like, stupid shit. If I ever see you here again, I'll fucking give you a real reason to scream." He threw Jim on the street and spat in his face. "Leave now. I'll fucking call the police." He turned away and walked back to the container, murmuring several more insults.

Jim remained lying on the street. He wasn't sure he would get up should a car speed around the corner.

Only when it started raining, pouring, he got up. He had to find shelter or he would die of pneumonia. Wiping the spit from his face, he limped on. The street was empty. He was sure if there had been people, somebody would have helped him. Irish people did that, especially against an English man who was verbally abusing a teenager. But nobody was here. Nobody to help him. As usual.

A car drove around the corner. Jim clutched his side, feeling blood from the scratches the container had cut into his delicate skin stain his hands. Great. The only shirt he owned, ruined.

The car came closer. The window was down. A voice asked, "How much?"

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**Like it?**


	4. I could really use a wish right now

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
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**Title: Taken from B.O.B. - _Airplanes_  
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**Warnings: not nice.  
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**Chapter Three: I could really use a wish right now**

Jim took a step back, "Excuse me?"

"I said 'How much?'. Are you deaf?"

Jim didn't know whether he should laugh, feel insulted, or simply lash out, "You think I'm some sort of a rent boy?"

The man let his eyes wander over Jim's frame, "That's exactly what I think. A noob, sure, but definitely available."

_Was that how men used to look at my mam? _"No, I'm not. Go fuck yourself."

"I'd much rather fuck you, sweetheart. Come on."

"Certainly not."

The man grinned, "Oh, you are so proud now, aren't you? Let me assure you one thing though: you will come and find me. I give you two days. Keep that sexy arse tight for me, will you? Good night, sugar." He closed the window and speeded up.

Jim remained where he was, trying to understand what just happened. Some guy had just offered him money in exchange for… his arse. He felt his muscles tense. Good Lord, was that how he looked? Like he would sell himself? Then he realized he was being silly. Of course the man would think that: here he was, looking like a bum, dirty and soaked, wandering the streets at night… There was no other conclusion the man could possibly jump to. Besides, his mother had been a prostitute, and she always looked her very best, if her face wasn't decorated with the occasional bruise or cut. You would have never thought she'd sell her body for money. Jim shook his head; he had to do something. He was soaked to his bones now, and it proved to be quite a cold night, if the chattering of his teeth was anything to go by. So he walked on.

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The rain didn't stop. Judgement Day? Jim had found no shelter what so ever, and it felt like a lifetime since he had last been dry. His feet were so cold. It wasn't even winter yet, but even summer proved cold this year. And he was still starving. He had actually considered starting to go beg for money. He had to hold on to his pants or else they would just slide down his frame. He smelled, even though the rain had at least provided some relief. Now he smelled like wet clothes- it was a little something. But his clothes looked bad, his shirt was blood-stained and the trousers were dirty as far up as his knees. He sighed deeply: he knew what he could do. He could actually go look for the car. But sex? For money? Jim wasn't very experienced in the sex field. Yeah, he knew what _he_ liked. Of course, every boy his age did. Many lonely nights locked up in the basement… there were only so many things you could do to kill time. And yeah, he had actually had his experience with women. Or, one woman, rather. One girl. One time. Sorcha. His… _friend_? Yeah, he could probably call her that. They had shared one night. It had probably been better for her than for him; she had a big crush on him. Not that it had been bad for him. He had enjoyed it, even though it had been rather… inexperienced. But she had been nice, very considerate to his more sensitive areas. And hungry. But still… this was going to be different. Would he, could he…. No. No. He couldn't. Give up the last thing he had, his body, for money? No, it was out of the question. But… he could make lots of money. No. No. _I can't do this. _

And then he noticed he was standing on the exact same spot where the car had pulled up to him. He licked his lips. God, was he actually thinking about this? But… he was hungry, he was dirty, and really, he didn't know where to go, what to do. If he earned a bit of money, he could go and look for a motel room, buy himself something to eat… Food. And not from a trash container, but maybe from a real restaurant. He could buy some new clothes… Really, how important was this whole virginity thing? He wasn't even a virgin anymore, if he thought about it. He was desperate. He needed money to go on… So he waited. Decision made. He would. Just for as long as he needed to…

The car pulled up. The window was scrolled down again. "Told you you would come…"

Jim took a deep breath, "Yeah…"

The man scanned him again, "How old are you?"

"Eighteen." Jim lied.

"Get in." Jim hesitated. "Get your sorry arse in here. NOW!" Jim flinched, but opened the back door. "No. Here, next to me." He patted on the passenger's seat. Jim walked around the car, his mind taking in everything about it. _White Ford Mustang. Good shape. The license plate… _He opened the door and sat down, trembling already. "What's your name?"

"Marlon…" _Detach yourself, Jim. _

"Marlon. I'm Frank. Spread your legs, please." Jim did. The man, all the while looking at the street, slid his hands up Jim's knee. Jim felt beads of sweat forming on his front as he felt the hand moving closer to his crotch.

_Dirty hands. _

_Dirty nails. _

_Disgusting man. _

_Fat, comb-over. _

_Vest, camouflage pants. _

_Smell: Tobacco. Sweat. Whiskey. Fish. _

"You ever had it up the arse, Marlon?"

"No…"

"Good. I like them tight." A squeeze. "Well, as a noob of course, I won't give you the money I would give to someone with experience. I'd say…. Twenty Irish pounds." Jim only nodded. "Good. If you're any good, I might give you a little extra money." Another squeeze, harder this time. Jim's back arched involuntarily. "Ever had sex before?"

"Yes…"

"With a girl?"

"Yes."

"Did she blow you?"

_Had she? He didn't remember. She had placed his hand on her hips. She had let him take control. And he hadn't asked that of her. _"No…"

"That's unfortunate. Well, I'll teach you." Another squeeze. "Unbutton your pants." Jim's finger's trembled as he did. The man licked his lips. "You're scared? Don't be." He was obviously aroused by Jim's display of fear as his hand wormed himself into Jim's trousers and underwear. _Skin on skin. _"Wow. That's quite the package for a skinny bloke like you. Was it the girl's first time?" Jim only nodded, swallowing down… bile or tears, he didn't know it. "I'm sure you tore her open quite well." _Fingers around his…. _"I'm sure you taste deliciously."

"Where are we going?"

"My flat. Which is why I have to ask you to pull this hood over your head now. Can't risk police to find out about me." He gave Jim a hood. "Wow, very eager to please me, it seems." he said as Jim pulled the hood over his head as fast as he could.

_No. I just don't wanna look at your face anymore. If my fear makes you so horny, I don't want to show my face to you, either. God, Jim, stop trembling. _

But he couldn't. And as he felt Frank's fingers stroking his cock… as he felt his cock reacting… he almost fainted.

Unfortunately, only almost.

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**Don't hate me. I mentioned rock-bottom**


	5. Puede destrozar todo aquello que ve

**I am really sorry it took me so long to update. But you all know what's going on on the site now, and I was really hesitant cos this chapter here is really nasty, even though I edited it. Anyways, I don't have an alternative site to post, so... well. Let's pray.  
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**Disclaimer: see prologue  
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**Title: Taken from Shakira's _Lo quiero a morir. _So is the line in Italic I used later.  
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**Warning: Please, take it seriously. It's not going to be nice.  
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**Chapter Four: Puede destrozar todo aquello que ve**

Jim was sure Frank made some detours. But Jim knew the city of Dublin like the back of his hand, and he was pretty sure he knew where they were when the car came to a halt. He felt pebble stones under his shoes. The air smelt fresh. Soft buzzing in the air. Definitely not the city centre anymore.

A heavy hand on his shoulder, "Watch out. Stairs." Frank guided him up the stairs. A door was unlocked.

_Smell: Beer. Cold smoke. Humidity. _

The door was closed again. And immediately, Frank pressed his body against Jim, who stiffened. "You are so hot, kid." His hands were back in Jim's underwear. "Don't worry, you will enjoy this. Take off the hood and your shirt." Jim did as he was asked. _Let it be over fast. The more you comply, the sooner it will be over. _He took off the hood.

_Flat: dirty. Three rooms: Living room with kitchen. Bathroom. Bedroom. _

He took off his shirt. Frank did the same and then rubbed himself against Jim's body. "You're so skinny. I like that. I could count your ribs." He let his hands slide over Jim's ribcage. "You're hungry, right? Thirsty, maybe even. Don't worry. I'll give you something good later." Jim could feel Franks tongue on his neck, leaving a wet trail, down his spine. "Many scars. Victim of abuse?"

"Let's get over with this, please." Jim murmured. He felt sick already, and he knew it wasn't even close to being over.

"So, yes…" He explored more of Jim's skin with his tongue. "Oh yeah, you taste fine. Your skin is so soft… Take your pants off. Now. Since you want it to be over…" Jim complied. "Turn around. Present yourself to me. _Touch_ yourself." Jim couldn't; he was trembling too much. His legs were too weak by now; he could barely hold himself together. "Oh, pussy. Okay, then, I'll take the lead. On your knees."

This was it. He had to shut down. As he let himself sink to his knees, he knew this was the moment where he would lose the last shred of innocence he had defended from Brook, from Carl. Sorcha came to his mind. The way she had treated him. Love. Respect. Every touch hesitant, leaving him the choice to end it at any moment if he felt uncomfortable. It was different this time. He hadn't even properly knelt down when Frank placed both his hands on Jim's head, making sure the boy could not flee. "Open your mouth. Oh, delicious, how your lips are trembling…" He slowly entered Jim's mouth with his cock. Jim closed his eyes and let it happen. He couldn't make himself…. No, that was just too disgusting. The taste was enough to make him gag. He knew that any active action from his side would probably earn him the extra money, but he just couldn't do it. The grip on his head tightened. His mouth filled with flesh. More and more with every second. More than he could handle, he was sure. God, how did women do that? He half-wished he had pushed Sorcha down on her knees, watching her do it, having at least an idea what could be done. Sorcha would have done it, no question, she would have done anything he asked of her. But now he was at the receiving end, and, as Frank pushed himself deeper into Jim's mouth, ignoring the boy's twitching, Jim knew he could never go back. He just wanted it to be over. So, he started flicking his tongue.

It elicited a moan from Frank, "Oh, yeah… come on, little shit, suck it." And Jim did, ignoring the feeling of shame that washed over him as he felt the first drops fall. "Oh, you are so sexy, Marlon…" Bitter. It tasted bitter. Disgusting. "I would love to fuck that pretty face of yours until you're so hoarse you can't speak." One of Frank's hands moved to his cheeks, caressing it, almost tenderly. "Open your eyes. I want to see the look in it." Jim cracked them open, the effort was visible. "Oh, sweet fear…" He thrust. Jim twitched. Another thrust. Tears built up in Jim's eyes as he fought to keep his gag reflex under control. _Thrust._ The grip on his head tightened again as more and more force was added.

Then suddenly, Frank pulled out, and Jim was left with a bitter taste on his lips and tongue, shaking. Frank leaned down to him until they were face to face, and again he let his fingers dance over Jim's cheek, trailing them to his lips. "Delicious." His tongue darted out to lick Jim's lower lip. This was even more disgusting, feeling his wet tongue on his lips. "Go down on all four. Come on, don't be prissy." Jim hesitated. The smack that landed across his face knocked him down on the floor before he could decide. "On. All. Four." And Jim complied. "Good. You only need to be broken in, it seems, little dog. Now, wait here." He walked past Jim, groping Jim's ass as he did. Jim actually winced this time. Every touch was repellent. And to know that at some point during the next few minutes the last wall he had would be torn down made it even worse. Again, his thoughts went to Sorcha. It had been her first time, and he remembered the sudden flash of pain across her face the moment he had pushed himself into her for the first time. He had not been extremely gentle, but sure more so than Frank would be, and yet he had hurt her. But then, he had kissed her lips, in the heat of the moment, to comfort her, before he had resumed his thrusting into her in slow, swift strokes. And she had given in to every single of his touches. It wouldn't be like that, now, Jim was sure. It would be loud, cruel, messy, revolting. His body, the last thing he owned, would be used. Abused.

Frank came back, his hands and cock shiny with lube. Cold, cruel hands prepared Jim for the inevitable. There was no tenderness. He was a butcher, preparing the pig to be slaughtered. Groping, not caressing. Preparing the entrance for its purpose. Jim let his head hang. He wanted out, wanted to leave, wanted to pass out.

The first push drags him down to hell that has been waiting for him since he killed Carl Powers. It's an explosion of pain. His screams are only swallowed by the loud moans from Frank. "Oh, God, you're so tight… so tight… I wanna tear your apart…" Well, mission completed. Jim would have laughed if he didn't feel so ashamed. Frank puts more force in his thrusts, and Jim feels like being impaled. Frank is everywhere in his body, and there's nothing Jim can do to block out the ever increasing pain.

The last thing he saw before passing out, finally, oh sweet darkness, were a pair of brown eyes. _Her_ eyes. And he was suddenly very thankful she had offered herself to him, giving him his first sexual experience. If this _here_ had been his first, he would be broken beyond repair.

* * *

He woke up again. His head burned. His backside burned. He was still naked. He was in the car, apparently, he could feel the cold leather on his skin. Then he felt it. Fingers. Fiddling with his entrance. He cracked an eye open. Frank was lying on top of him, licking his collarbone, driving into him with hungry fingers, caressing his body. He closed his eye again, hoping the man hadn't noticed he was conscious again. He clearly hadn't. He was taking advantage of Jim's vulnerable position to satisfy himself a bit more. Jim felt the fluid dripping on his body, the hot tongue tonguing it, up to his neck, his face, his lips. Jim stirred.

"Wakey wakey." He was pulled into an upright position. A bundle was pushed into his arms, a bundle of notes and some change, his tip, probably, into his hand. The door was opened, and Jim's already bruised side made contact with the street. "I hope to see you again soon, sugar. You were delicious." The door closed again, and the car left.

Jim remained lying on the street for a few minutes before he picked himself up. Or, the pieces he recognized belonging to him. The bundle turned out to be his clothes. Minus his underwear. A trophy. Jim didn't care. He slipped on his trousers and his shirt, and proceeded to count the money. Forty pounds. Well, at least he was paid for the minutes the man had abused his unconscious body. And the change. Why the change? Jim didn't care. He got up, hissing, and walked on, walked away from the spot he had been thrown to the street like trash. He knew where he was walking to. He had felt bad at times before. And there was only one person (well, one person alive) that could bring him to focus now.

The nearest phone booth. He put some change into the phone. Enough for a two minute conversation. And he dialed.

The phone was answered almost instantly, "Hello?" Loud voice.

"Sorcha…"

A pause. "Jim… Jim…" Voice strained. Thick. "How are you?"

"I'm fine…" _Lie. _"How are you?"

"I miss you. Come back."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"You know I can't… How's Sebastian?" _Casual small talk._

"Leaving soon for boot camp. We're all sad. Please come back. What are you doing out there?"

_She missed him. So much. _"I just sold my body for money." He could literally see the tears running over her face as he said that. "I… just wanted to call… to thank you."

"What… what for?"

"Everything. Without you… this would have been my first time… and well… sorry if I hurt you."

"Jim… please, come back. You don't have to do this…"

"I know… I will… leave now… Just wanted to… say good-bye."

"Jim, don't… don't do this." She hesitated. "I miss you. I love you…"

_Porque ella de un soplo lo vuelve a crear como si nada__…(1) _"I'm running out of change. Don't worry. I won't." He hesitated. "You still love me. Even after what I just told you?"

"Of course, Jim. Please, come back."

He smiled into the receiver, "Don't worry about me, Sorcha. I'll pull through."

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

Pause. "I'll be waiting. For you to come back."

A cold grip around his heart. "Good-bye, Sorcha." He hung up.

* * *

**I think this is the most intense thing I've ever written. It might also be the best I've ever written, though. **


	6. On the avenue there ain't never a curfew

**Oh, guys, I'm so sorry for the long wait... No further ado**

**Disclaimer: See Prologue  
**

**Title: from Alicia Keys's _Empire State of Mind Part 2  
_**

* * *

**Chapter Five: ****On the avenue there ain't never a curfew**

The rest of the night and the next day, Jim thought about how to go on, hands clutched around the few bills he had gotten. He had spent some of it on a burger and a bottle of water, but the rest was his. He finally had money again. Suddenly, it didn't seem all that hopeless anymore. But he knew the money would soon be gone, and he needed more. Where to get more? He knew it. He knew it was the only possibility. He hated it, he wasn't sure he could cope with it, but hell, the alternative wasn't all that good.

So, the next day, he was back at the spot where Frank picked him up. He hoped Frank wouldn't come again. But others came…

Jim made three clients in the first night. It was hellish, though. Apparently there were many more perverts out there than Jim had thought it possible. But he did what he was asked to, feigning arousal, just to get a bit of extra money.

_Five clients the second night. _

_Seven clients the third night. _

_Two clients the fourth night. Sunday. Husbands stay at home with their families on Sundays. _

_Seven clients the fifth night. _

And before he knew it, he had five hundred pounds to call his own. And a valuable information. One client, a nice one, really, had told him that he couldn't live on the streets like that; people would rob him at some point. The man had offered him a shower, something to drink, something to eat, and had told him that there was in fact a house where the other rent boys lived and worked. He wouldn't have to live on the street, but could spend his days in a room, sheltered from the rain and the cold. Because winter was approaching…

* * *

So a week later Jim laid down on his own bed. It was not much, more a cupboard than a real room, but it was at least something. A bed, a desk, a drawer where he could put his things (the landlord had said. Jim was pretty sure he meant handcuffs and lube and things), and, the most important thing, a little build-in safe where he could put the money. The rent was reasonable, and the only extra costs were for the washing-machine. Which Jim used more than any other, apparently. His first bigger investment was a set of bed sheets, so he could change them after clients.

On the first night already, there was a knock on his door. Jim froze. He didn't feel safe, what with all the other abused creatures around. "Can I come in?"

"Who are you?"

"It's Gloria."

Jim knew her. Or him. He wasn't too sure how to refer to Gloria. Gloria was most definitely a man, yet dressed up as a woman. She was sort of the agony aunt here, he had heard from the landlord. Nobody to fear, "Yeah, come on in, door's open."

The door creaked, "Sweetheart, that's a big mistake. You need to keep that door locked." She walked in. Jim took her in. Long red hair, definitely a wig. Loads of make-up. Suspenders. Corselet. High-heels. Deep, comforting voice. "Hello. Just wanted to welcome you here. I saw you lurking around, you looked kinda lost…" She tilted her head, "Oh god, darling, how old are you?"

"Sixteen…" Jim answered. He immediately felt at ease. "Please, sit down."

She did, "Oh, darling, you are much too young to do this. What happened to you?"

Jim shrugged, "Apparently the world hates me…"

She gave him a smile, "God hates nobody. You shouldn't be here…" She studied his face, "You have no idea how we play, do you?" As he shrugged, she continued, "Darling, if you want to survive in this business, there are a few rules you need to know."

"Are there?"

"Yes, and you'd do well in respecting them. It's for your own sake, really. Rule Number One, we stick together here. If you ever need help, scream. If you can. Someone will come to your help. But of course, we expect the same from you if you hear somebody screaming. It's our way of protecting ourselves. Now, about the rest… You always get the money first, and lock it up. Never once agree if somebody tells you he'll pay you after sex. Always make clear the terms: if there's a guy you don't want to let penetrate you, make it clear. You always use protection. If your client doesn't want protection, he doesn't need it, which means he's probably infected with an STD already. If you expect a client who is into BDSM, tell one of us: chances are he will gag you, and you need somebody at your door watching out for you. Do you have family or friends?" Jim shook his head. She gave him a sympathetic look, "Poor darling. If you ever make friends, never tell them. Because they will use them to get to you." She frowned, "I surely have forgotten something… Oh really, I shouldn't have to tell you all this. You should be at school, preparing for your final grades…" She reached out her hand and ruffled through his hair. "Poor guy, you're almost still a child." Jim shied away instantly, bringing his knees up to his chest. "Sorry. Didn't mean to… I was just wondering what you've been through… Sixteen, and already seeing no other way. It's bad for all of us, but, you're by far the youngest I've ever seen here." Jim felt really uncomfortable by now. Not because he didn't like her, but he couldn't handle the pity. "I think I should go now. Leave you." She hesitated, "Don't forget yourself. The most important rule. Just because men won't respect your body doesn't mean you don't have to. Respect yourself."

"I lost that ability a long time ago…" Jim murmured.

The look on her face was probably more than Jim could possibly endure, "Poor child. You shouldn't think like this. What has happened to you?"

Jim's walls were down now, his voice thick, "My da died. My mam had to marry this bastard… she was a prostitute, too. He beat us both up and killed her. I ran away. And then this guy…" He shook his head. "How do you keep that self-respect?"

"I tell myself every day that this is only a job, and that it has nothing to do with who I am. I am still fabulous. I am a superwoman. You need to be good to yourself. How did you cope with all the abuse?"

Jim shrugged, "I had my mam to protect. Couldn't leave her alone. And… well, there was this girl in school. She never looked down at me."

"Oh, teenage love?"

"I can't love." Jim said shortly.

She smiled again, "That's what you say. You loved your mam now, didn't you?" As he nodded, she continued, "We all feel like this sometimes, believe me. Especially after some really nasty client who likes to call you names. But there is always someone who can spark a flame in your heart. Somebody who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Who loves you unconditionally. You're young, but you will see."

"And what if I can't love back? Cause really, that's the problem."

She got up and straightened the sheets again, "Then, my friend, you are the poorest person in the world. I have to leave now, I expect a client. If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me."

"Thank you."

When she had left, he wrapped his limbs around his pillow and closed his eyes, trying to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. Was he really poor if he couldn't love? No. His mother had loved both him and his father, and what good had it done her? She was dead. Because she couldn't handle her son being put down by the bastard. And Sorcha? She had loved him, loved him still, and what good had it done her? She waited for him, who would never come back, and probably cried herself to sleep every night? No, loving was definitely not an advantage, on the contrary. All the people who loved him were suffering. And he? Well, he had loved his mother, and she was gone, his heart broken. _Nope_. He wouldn't love again. Shield himself from… _feelings_. Even if Gloria thought it made him poor. She was wrong. It made him capable of surviving.

* * *

I should be back on track now.


	7. Well the more that I start to play

**New chapter. Have fun.  
**

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

**Title: Christina Aguilera - Mercy on me**

* * *

**Chapter Six: Well the more that I start to play...**

_Martin, 31. Just wants to talk. _

_Daniel, 42. Likes to have his arse spanked. _

_Jeffrey, 64. All the way through. Scream his name. Won't stop until you come._

_Gregory, 50. Father of two. Bored by his wife. Likes to try out all kinds of stuff. Call someone to wait at the door. Just in case. _

_Patrick, 21. Young pervert. Likes to give facials, pearl necklaces. Likes to slap me. Think he might not even like proper sex. _

_Richard, doesn't want to give his age. Keep ice close in case of swelling. _

_Sir Steven, 35. Into BDSM. Sir Steven likes to tie people up and then use them. Very respectful, but firm._

* * *

Two months into the job and Jim already felt like nobody could teach him anything anymore. During these two months he had heard of all possible and impossible sex practices. From all sorts of men. Men liked him because he looked vulnerable. And because he looked so vulnerable he generally attracted the more dominant men. Vicious circle. But Jim stood out between the rest of the rent boys: many of them were older and more muscular. So Jim soon had his regulars.

It sounded like business transactions. That was the way Jim wanted it to sound. Like Gloria had said, only a job. It wasn't the job he always dreamt of, but hell, he earned so much money, it was ridiculous. So what if he was essentially losing all of his dignity? Dignity wasn't that important now. He wasn't somebody who could afford dignity. At least he could afford food now. And clothes. Real clothes. Warm clothes. It had started snowing outside. It was close to Christmas; the city smelled of cinnamon and pines.

Even Gloria had managed to get the other guys to decorate their rooms and the hall, "Christmas is a bad time for us. All the clients spend it with their families, pretending that they love their wives and children and would never even think of visiting us. But I think we could use a bit of Christmas-spirit here."

Jim however expected at least Patrick to come over. He had no family in the city and didn't go home for the holidays, and he had already told Jim he would stop by. Patrick was the one Jim liked the least. After all those years he had lived with Marlon Brook, Jim knew how to tell apart the people that wanted sex from the people that only wanted to humiliate others, and Patrick definitely fell into the latter category. So far he hadn't even tried to have sex with Jim; he only wanted to mark Jim as his. And talk about his fantasies of doing this to a woman. Mark a woman as his, control her everything. Why he never visited female prostitutes was something Jim didn't understand.

But Gloria, who visited Jim every night to bring him tea or cookies, seemed to know it, "It sounds cliché, but I think he might be afraid of women. Many men come to see us because women won't give them the time of the day, and they think that if they can have power over men, having power over women will only be a matter of time."

Jim has been wondering about Gloria's story long enough, so, this time, he asked, "Why are you here?"

"Making small talk, now?" She smiled. "I came here because my parents didn't understand that I like cross-dressing. My dad beat the shit out of me when I was your age and he saw me in my sister's mini-skirt and her top. And many times after it. They never understood that it's a completely normal thing. And then I got married, to an absolutely lovely woman. I still am, actually. Only… well, once she discovered that I preferred her LBD to my tux… she was very understanding, but couldn't find me attractive anymore, so we broke up. She was gorgeous, and I really loved her, but, of course, I understood her problem."

"So you're still friends?"

"Yes, indeed. She doesn't like what I'm doing, but… It's hard to get a job for people like me."

"Do you actually want to be a woman?" Jim was interested, now. He couldn't quite understand the woman before him. "I mean… you dress like one, you call yourself Gloria…"

She smiled, "I am quite happy as a man as it is. Because I am a man, and I am one hell of a man. Most of my clients, I could snap their neck in two. I just happen to like to dress up in women's clothes. Have you ever tried it?" Jim shook his head. "You should. It's very sensual."

"I don't know… I think I might stick to trousers. Wouldn't want to make it even easier for the clients by wearing a skirt."

Gloria laughed, "Very true. But it adds a certain… feeling to the thing if you think that the only thing separating you and your sexual partner from engaging in sex is just a little piece of fabric… Of course, it'll only arouse you if you actually like the other one…"

Jim remembered Sorcha. He only had seen her wearing anything else but a skirt the day they went to see the Ireland game. That night they had had sex, she had been wearing a skirt. And yes, come to think about, Jim had liked it.

"Why are you blushing now?" Gloria seemed amused. "Thinking of something?"

"Yeah... my first time. She liked skirts."

"The girl that was in love with you?"

"Yeah. She made a move on me one night, and, well… it sort of happened."

"Was it good?"

"Hell, yeah." He blurted out. "I mean… we were both inexperienced. But at least it was…"

"Consensual?"

"Yeah. And I didn't feel like I was just used." He shook his head, "Well, no use thinking about it. It's not like anybody would want damaged goods."

"Does she know what you're doing now?"

"I… I called her… after my first client… and told her what I had just done."

"How did she react?"

"She told me she still loves me. But she's silly."

"So you think because you're doing this you don't deserve somebody's love?"

"I just can't imagine somebody would be attracted to me if they knew what I have already done for money. What I had people do to me." Jim shrugged.

"You'd better stop that self-pity, because that is truly disgusting. Try and see what she probably sees. She knew you before all of this." Gloria got up. "I need to leave now. It's getting dark, and I have a client coming." Her eyes rested on Jim, "Don't hate yourself for what you do. You deserve love just like anyone of us. And this girl… what's her name, anyways?"

"Sorcha…"

Gloria smiled, "I wish you could hear yourself pronouncing her name. Like a caress. Anyways. She might be the one soul you need to feel better again. You cannot live hating yourself. Why don't you invite her for Christmas?"

"Christmas? She'll spend it with her family."

"Then New Year's. Night, darling."

* * *

Jim thought about it the whole evening. Even during his hour with Patrick, there was nothing else on his mind.

When Patrick had left and Jim had cleaned himself up, he had made his decision, and walked to the nearest phone booth.

"Moran?"

"It's me."

"Jim." _Like a caress… _"Come home."

"Sorcha… I can't. I have a job. I… I actually… I might be a bit sentimental right now… Would you like to come to Dublin? Visit me? For Christmas?"

"Sure."

"Don't you want to ask your parents?"

"You killed two people and you want me to get my parents' permission to visit you? But yeah, I'll ask them."

"And if they say 'no', you'll come anyways."

"Yes. I am a gangster."

He couldn't help but smile, "And you're not afraid?"

"You had the chance to off me. More than once. I… I just want to see you again. Feel you again. Smell you… Oh gosh, I'm being tacky. I'll be there on the 24th. Don't run."

"Where would I run to?"

* * *

**Bit of fluff. I can't help it.**


	8. Turning the lights out

**Disclaimer: see prologue  
**

**Title: taken from Natalia Kills' _Mirrors_  
**

Warnings: Fluff. And then no fluff. Oh yeah, and sex, but nothing graphic

* * *

**Chapter Seven: ****Turning the lights out, burning the candles…**  


Jim noticed he was looking forward to Sorcha's visit. As he finally waited at the station where her train was due, he felt rather happy. He had missed her.

And boy, did _she _look happy when she saw him! He thought he had never seen her smile like that. Or anybody, for that matter. "Jim."

"Sorcha. You really came."

"Of course." She hugged him. "Oh my God, I can't believe it…"

"What?"

"Your hair…"

Jim smiled; the last time she'd seen him, his hair had been very short, regularly sheared off to make him look less like his father. "Yeah. I let it grow. Looks good?"

"Amazing. You have never looked better. Well, you always looked good… Oh my God this is so awkward…"

"It totally is. Come on, let me carry your... five bags. How long are you planning to stay? A year?"

"I might never leave again. But I actually plan to stay for three days… It's all a bit doom and gloom since Sebastian left. My mam is crying a lot. We were actually fearing she'd dehydrate from all the crying the morning he showed up at breakfast with his hair sheared off. She was mumbling something about 'liquid honey' and didn't show up for the rest of the day."

"I can't imagine your mam like that. I would have thought she'd beat him into submission with 'The Sunday Times'."

"I think he was expecting exactly that. So, how about you? How is everything here?"

"How is your dad? Is he at least proud of Sebastian?"

"I think he's still undecided. So, this is where you live now?" They had arrived at the building.

Jim nodded, "Yeah. It's really small, but it's… It's really small." He actually blushed. The building looked shabby, and he remembered the beautiful house Sorcha's family lived in. He actually regretted having invited her. "But I have my own room. And don't worry, I changed the sheets…"

"Of course…" She hesitated. "How is it? Doing that?"

Jim shook his head, "Don't ask. It's… hard. But it earns good money. Well, it earns money. But let's not talk about it. I actually might even have a few days off, since all of my clients are pretending to be a happy family." He opened the front door, "There's some other guys working here. But don't worry, they're harmless."

"And if they weren't, you would protect me, as you've always done."

"And get into trouble afterwards, as I have always done." He smiled. "I'll let you have my bed, I'll be sleeping in the common room."

"Or we could share your bed. Platonic, of course. You still owe me some cuddles."

"True that." He opened the door to his room, "Has anyone said anything? About Brooke?"

"They found him a week after you left. Actually, I think if you had stayed, they would have never suspected anything."

"They do?"

"No, don't worry. They questioned people at school, and everyone described you as a bit of a loner, who doesn't have many friends. It led them to me and Sebastian, and we both said that you had probably found him and split because you were so traumatized by the first dead body… I squeezed out some tears and brought up the possibility that you killed yourself over this shock… They labelled you as 'missing' and went on with their lives."

"Good. Wouldn't want it any other way. So, you're covering for me?"

"Of course. As I told you, I understand why you did it. But there's some boy going on and on about Carl Powers' missing shoes. Police don't take him seriously though. And even if, I doubt they could trace it back to you."

"I have the shoes. But don't worry, I have them well hidden. Would you like something to eat? Or tea? I'm sure Gloria has it prepared already."

"Gloria? Who is that? Your girlfriend?"

Jim couldn't help but grin, "So jealous… No, she's a friend. She works here, too…" The clicking of heels. "Here she comes."

A knock on the door, "It's me. I brought tea for you and the lady, can I come in?"

"Of course."

She opened the door and balanced a tray in, "Hello, I'm Gloria. You must be Sorcha. Wow, you're a real looker. I love your hair."

If Sorcha was surprised to discover Gloria was in fact a man, she didn't show it. "Thank you, that's really sweet. I love the shade of yours. Oh, are these chocolate fudge cupcakes?"

"Yes. My speciality. We'll have a bit of a feast tonight in the common room, so don't eat too many just yet."

"I certainly won't. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, bird. I'll leave you two to yourselves now. Laters."

When Gloria had closed the door, Sorcha scratched her head, "Is she going to cook the food all alone?"

"No, I think some of the guys will help her. No need for you to jump in. I think they all look forward to cater to you; girls usually never get lost here."

"So I am the queen tonight?"

"Well, Gloria is, but you'll be treated as a princess. Do you want to freshen up? The bathroom is across the backyard…"

"I'm alright." She took a bite of a cupcake. "Oh, delicious. Just like you."

Jim chuckled, "That's your best line?"

"I'm sorry, it just slipped out. But all the time I'm standing here and I think that I would love nothing more than to lick or bite your neck. I think I deserve a medal for not having ripped your clothes off yet."

He smiled, "Well, you have the cake, don't tell me you prefer a medal to chocolate. But really, I feel flattered." He paused, "I do have some other clothes, though, so…"

"Really. You want sex on your day off? That's like a surgeon who operates on people on Sunday."

"Well, I usually get taken by guys, so it's more like a surgeon who butchers animals on Sunday… I'm sorry, that came out totally wrong." He ran his hand through his hair. He didn't even understand himself. Maybe he wanted her. She was fine, after all. Maybe he just wanted to feel like normal boys his age did. Maybe he just wanted his body to be treated with respect for once. It really didn't matter. Point was, he wanted her now. So he approached her, slowly, "I hope your clothes weren't too expensive, because they might get a bit damaged too."

"No need to. I can be naked in the blink of an eye. Shall I?"

He was now so close he could smell her hair, "And if I want to rip them off?"

"Then go ahead…"

He kissed her, cautiously, and ran his hand over her jacket, before slipping it off her shoulders. He wouldn't rip her clothes off. Not all of them, at least. He slid his hand under her sweater, feeling her naked skin below his fingertips. He then pulled the sweater over her head, messing up her hair in the process. Her bra followed. She was trembling by now. He leaned in, "What are you afraid off? We've been here before."

"I'm not afraid…" she whispered. "I'm excited."

"You are about to have sex with a murderer." He brushed her collarbone with his lips. "With a rent boy." His lips moved to her neck. "Does that excite you?"

"No. I'm about to have sex with Jim Moriarty. That excites me. To no end."

His hands now made their way under her skirt (because, 'I know it's Christmas Eve, and it's snowing, I'll still wear a skirt'), feeling the goose bumps on her thighs. His breathing became faster. "You really are excited. I can tell that. Come on, sit down on the desk, sweetness. Spread your legs." She did. "Beautiful." He started unbuttoning his shirt, slowly, watching her as she watched him with eyes that could easily be described as hungry in the very least. She really wanted him. He let the shirt fall to the floor and proceeded to take off his trousers and pants with agonizing slowness. Then he moved closer again, until he was standing between her open legs. He raised his hands to her head, tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her passionately. "Let's be clear on one thing, though. This is still just sex. Nothing more. No love-making. And I won't come back with you. You understand?"

He could actually see something breaking inside of her, but she nodded, "I understand. But… it's okay, I guess."

"Good…" He gave her one last kiss before he pushed into her.

* * *

When Jim woke up again, just in time to get prepared for dinner, he sighed deeply; that had been good. So, sex wasn't all that bad. He really should have good sex more often. With somebody who cared for his pleasure, too, not only for theirs. He opened his eyes and turned his head. Sorcha was asleep too, cuddling to his chest, actually digging her fingernails into his hips, as if she were afraid he might leave. He closed his eyes again and breathed in her scent. That faint smell of perfume, chocolate and tea. Normally, after intercourse, there was no sweet smell but only semen and harsh aftershave, and there was certainly no cuddling. Maybe a gentle pat on the cheek. _Perfume… _Was this how this was for other people? For people who didn't have to sleep with other people for money, but had sex because they loved their partner? Did they stay in bed, linger in the smell of sex, instead of washing themselves and their sheets as fast as they could, to get rid of any trace of what had just happened? He didn't feel the need to wash himself, or change the sheets, now. He felt at ease, for the first time since… well, since Carl Powers. He smiled and pulled her a bit closer.

Then, a few minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and Gloria popped her head in, "Jim… oh, isn't that sweet? Did you two…?" Jim nodded. "Aw, that is so sweet…"

"Is dinner ready? I thought we'd have a few more minutes…"

She shook her head, "No, it's not… Patrick is here. I told him you're off duty, but he won't budge, he wants to see you. Shall I call the guys?"

Jim sighed deeply; Patrick paid good money. He couldn't afford to lose him as a client. "No… tell him to wait… I'll be with him in a sec."

Gloria's face darkened, but she knew as well as Jim how important the regulars were, "Okay. Send her over to me later, I'll take care of her." She closed the door again.

Jim nudged Sorcha, "Sorcha?"

"I'm dreaming of you…"

"You need to get up. I have a client waiting."

She opened her eyes, "A good one?"

"A regular. I need his money. I'm sorry."

She shook her head, "It's okay. Don't worry." She crawled out of bed and put Jim's shirt and her skirt on. "What do I do?"

"Go and find Gloria. And… don't listen at the door, yeah?"

He could barely handle the sudden sadness in the eyes of the only person that actually cared for him when she asked, "He's going to treat you badly, isn't he?"

Jim nodded, "Yes, most probably. But don't worry. I'll be okay."

"One last kiss?"

He smiled, "That makes it sound like I'm in for an execution. Don't be so tacky. Be cynic." But nevertheless, he pulled her against his chest and kissed her lips. "Shame. I would have loved to keep those sheets a bit longer." He let his hand wander under her skirt again and stroked her for a few seconds. "I'll be back later to defile you once again, if you like. Keep yourself hot for me."

She actually swallowed, "You're a bastard."

He leaned in and whispered, "I'm not. I just know how to get you all bothered. Now leave." She did.

Patrick came in a moment later, "Hey, pet. Didn't know you pleasure girls now, too? Or is she a friend of yours?"

_If you ever make friends, never tell them. Because they will use them to get to you._ "No, she's just a client. Nothing more."

"I don't like that you sleep with others. I can get over the fact that other guys sleep with you, but this…"

Jim only shrugged, "You need to pay me more, then. I need to make a living."

"Back-talking now, are we? Down on your knees, pet."

* * *

**I couldn't let it be too fluffy, now, could I? Read and review, people. It means the world to writers. **


	9. Who would have known

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

******Title: taken from Adele's _Someone like you_.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eight: ****Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?**

Gloria dragged Sorcha into the kitchen and ordered her to peel potatoes, "Every girl needs to know how to make a decent potato soup."

"I know how to make a decent soup." Sorcha snapped. "I can even make you one hell of a vindaloo."

"Then go ahead, chop till you drop, sweetie. And don't think too much, I'm in no mood to drive you to hospital to get your finger stitched back on."

"I wish it were that easy." Sorcha murmured and started with the first potato. "I just can't believe he's doing that."

"He says he's got no choice."

"No, he probably hasn't. Still… My family likes him. They would take him in. Especially now that my brother joined the military. Instead he… does this. No offense, I mean, I don't think your job isn't as good as any other. I just… I feel bad that anyone has to sell their body for money…"

"You're young and naïve, darling. Life can be tough sometimes, and then you have to do things you don't want to. And see loved ones doing things like that. Since when do you dig our baby?"

"From the very first day."

"And what he does doesn't repel you?"

She shrugged, "I always liked the survivor in him. No, it doesn't repel me. I just… wished he wouldn't have to do this. I'm scared. That at some point somebody will… it's a dangerous business."

"It is, but we are all keeping an eye out for each other. He's as safe as he can be."

"That's good. Thank you."

"You're welcome, darling." She smiled. "He's been through a lot, hasn't he? He never talks a lot, but… we all saw the scars."

"His stepfather. Beat him a lot."

"I thought so. And the missing tooth?"

"Some guy from school. You noticed that?"

"Of course. He doesn't smile a lot, but if he does, it shows. He was beaten up, then?"

"Trashed… I really shouldn't tell you all this. Jim wouldn't like it. Tell me about his client."

"Jim wouldn't like it." Gloria smiled. "Just be there for him when he needs you. I think he will need you. At some point. He's much too young for this."

"I'll always be there. The question is whether he will let me in."

* * *

Jim was done an hour later. Patrick had made him feel his disdain; there was a bruise forming under his left eye from a particularly vicious slap, and Patrick had forced him to… well, he wasn't in the mood for dinner anymore. So when Patrick had left, he just popped his head into the kitchen to tell Gloria he was alright, that Patrick had left, and that he would put his sheets into the washing machine and get himself cleaned up.

When he got back, all clean, Sorcha had already redone the bed. He smiled, "Thank you. Sorry we got interrupted."

"It's okay. I…"

"I know. Sick bastard. Gloria told you anything?"

"No, she didn't. But…"

"It's different when you see it, isn't it? I… I would understand if you want to go home."

"No, it's not that… I just… oh god, that's gonna sound so silly, but I cannot understand, still not, how anybody would want to hurt that… beautiful face of yours." She raised her hand to touch his bruise, but Jim shied away. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I just… I usually don't want to be touched right after… you know." He chuckled bitterly. "You are quite lucky. Patrick doesn't even want to penetrate me."

"And that makes me the lucky one because…?"

"Because I… Remember earlier? When I was done, and you couldn't speak and think something coherent, and you only wanted to cuddle up to me? All the emotions?"

"Yeah."

"My emotions are just as strong. Only negative. I can't bear to be with someone then. I usually stand under the shower for hours on end, scrubbing away at my skin like a madman…" He swallowed. "It feels like being… over and over again. And I don't see any light at the end of the tunnel. Because I know the moment that door opens there will be another one using me for his pleasure, and that I have to comply because otherwise I don't get the money to pay for this place, and I will end up on the streets… You probably cannot understand that, but, believe me, before I did this, it was much worse." He chuckled again. "I actually ate out of the trash because I was starving. Now I can at least afford some food. Some clothes. I have a shot at surviving all this."

"At this price? Having your soul shattered?" He could clearly see how she was trying to fight the urge to touch him. "I have no idea what you're going through, Jim, but… you don't deserve this."

"I killed two people. If anyone deserves this, it's me."

"Are you regretting it?"

"Not for one second. But I am ready to deal with what He is throwing at me." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Brook, before I killed him, said that he hopes I'll have a lot of pain and suffering coming my way before I die. So far, he should be delighted."

"You know he was a bastard."

"Of course. Yet… how much suffering can one person take?"

"I don't know. I just know that you probably lived through more than any person I know. And I admire you for that. It's… part of the reason I am in love with you. You are a fighter, James. And by God I hope that this here…" she raised a hand, "won't break you, either." He smiled sadly; only now did Sorcha realize that every single smile of his showed the gap where his tooth had been, if you know where to look. Jim knew where to look. Every look into the mirror showed him. A brutal reminder of the beating he received from Powers. "I love you, Jim. Always will. I know it's one-sided. But I want you to remember every time you're feeling down."

He nodded slowly, "I will, believe me." He shuffled with his foot. "So, you're gonna stay for the holidays? Even now that you have seen what I do?"

"Of course."

"Thank you. I appreciate…."

* * *

But the three days passed too fast, and soon he was walking her back to the station. She only said something when her train was about to arrive, "One last time. Come with me. My parents…"

"... have done a lot for me already. I'll pull through."

"Okay… will I see you again, soon?"

He shook his head, "It's better if we… if we don't see each other anymore. It was a mistake asking you to come in the first place."

"Why did you do it, then?"

He shrugged, "I guess because I missed you." The train approached. He hesitated, but then pulled her into a hug, "Take care. Say hello to your family." He inhaled her scent for what he knew would be the last time. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Jim. I'll never forget you."

"Do."


	10. and the tough guys tumble

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

**Title: taken from Murray Heads _One Night in Bangkok_  
**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: ...and the tough guys tumble...  
**

The weeks passed by and nothing happened. Clients came and went, Jim's soul was shattered into more pieces each time he was penetrated. Gloria saw how he deteriorated, but he wouldn't listen, or care.

And then one evening, Sir Steven entered his room. There was no need to worry; he was by far the most respectful of Jim's clients. Jim nevertheless reacted on autopilot when Sir Steven watched him; he got up, crossed his hands behind his back and lowered his head in submission.

Sir Steven smiled and sat down on Jim's bed, "You can move. I am here on business. I want to book you, from tonight till Sunday evening."

"Sir?"

"I'm having some guests over this weekend. They are just like me, same preferences. My own slave can't be there, because he has a business meeting in the U.S.A. This is why I come here. Will you come?" Jim swallowed; he knew Sir Steven had a house in the country side. Nobody would hear him scream there. "I see you're hesitating. Don't worry. The men you would meet if you came along are all sane and healthy. And they pay well."

"How much…?"

"Five-hundred, each. Four thousand pounds for you."

_Eight men…_ Jim felt his stomach churn. But four thousand pounds… And really, what could they possibly do to him that hadn't been done to him, yet? "Okay. I'll come."

Sir Steven smiled, "I was hoping you would say that." Then his face turned to stone again. "Now, there are a few rules, as usual. I expect you to obey my every command. You won't take so much as a breath without my consent. My guests will want to have their share of you, and I expect you to fulfill their requests with as much effort as you put into fulfilling mine. Any disobedience will result in a punishment, and I guarantee it will be one that will leave you unsatisfied. You're with me so far?" As Jim nodded, he continued, his voice much softer, "Of course, you are free to use our safewords whenever you feel someone is crossing a line. But I promise you these men are just as respectful as I am. Your limits will be respected."

"Thank you, Sir. I'm… I'm not sure I can handle eight men, though."

"Well, better try. Now, get up. There are some preparations that need to be done. Turn around." Jim did as he was told, and soon heard the familiar sound of handcuffs being fastened. _Oh God, what did I get myself into…_ He couldn't deny he was afraid.

* * *

Upon arrival, Jim was put into the bathtub. Then he had to shave himself, legs, arms, pubic hair… and, and that really hurt the most, his head. Sir Steven had found that, for all the money he paid Jim, he could as well wear this sign of slavery, and Jim, despite the symbolic value his hair held for him, hadn't objected. Clothes however were not part of the plan, and as Jim knelt in the living room, playing footstool to Sir Steven and feeling nine pairs of eyes scanning his body, he was more aware then ever of the many flaws of his scarred body. Yet, the very same evening already, one of the men asked Sir Steven's permission to borrow Jim for a session.

The session was just as Jim had expected; pleasure and pain. The man had his way with him, but he made sure that Jim felt as comfortable as possible, even during the spanking that took place because Jim had dared to close his eyes during the blowjob. Just as Jim was preparing himself for another round of flogging, the man's mobile phone rang.

He sighed, "I'll have to take this. Business all the time. I'm sorry, but this is top secret, so I'll put this hood over your head. Stay tight, my little Leprechaun." Everything went dark, Jim felt his arse being patted, and then he heard footsteps walking off.

But even through the hood, Jim could hear every word; Sir Steven was an architect, and apparently his cellar was constructed like fucking whispering gallery in St. Pauls. "Yes… six, exactly. In cars. I want to see Dublin's city centre in ruins. Next Friday will be a day people will never forget. Start in the morning rush-hour. Make them explode within ten minutes of each other. I have to go now, I have a slave waiting to be flogged. Make it count. Bye." The footsteps came back. "Now, where were we, pet?" _Crack._

* * *

Jim would never remember much from that weekend. Not because he had tried to block it out: mind you, he had noticed early enough that the BDSM people were by far the most respectful of his clients. Never once did Jim have to fear for his health; apart from the occasional spanking that never left marks, he was never subjected to any real pain. Plus, all the men were determined to make Jim enjoy himself, so he had quite a number of orgasms that had left him panting on the floor with knees too weak to carry him. And, as Sir Steven drove him home on Sunday evening, he was told that everybody had enjoyed the weekend, which left Jim with five-hundred extra pounds. It was well worth the loss of his hair.

No, Jim was too preoccupied with what he had heard. Car bombs? In Dublin? In the centre? During rush-hour? Thousands would die. His city would be destroyed. No, he couldn't let that happen. He had to do something. Anything. Lives were at stake…. He tipped the police of, anonymously. Nobody would believe a rent boy anyways. _I heard they planned an attack on the city. I was being flogged when the call came._ No, that didn't sound very convincing.

* * *

Nothing happened that Friday morning; somehow, the Gardaí had managed to find all six bombs. It was too good to be true, and yet, nobody died that day. The Gardaí were looking for the man who tipped them off, though. The host on the evening news said that they were looking for a young boy with a rather soft voice speaking with a Dublin accent. Well, there were tons of these in Dublin, so chances he would be found were rather slim. He had refrained himself from going down to the centre on Friday morning to check out the situation, so nobody could trace it back to him. Nobody but his client…

Which was why Jim suddenly feared for his life when on Sunday morning, the body of his client turned up on the stairs of the police station, with his head bashed in and a carving that read _Traitor_ on his front. They had found out it had been him who had spilled the beans. How long would it take them to find Jim?

Gloria found him, sitting next to the toilet, actually trembling. "Jim, what's the matter with you?" Jim shook his head; since he had seen the pictures on the telly of the mutilated face of the man and realizing they were only one step away, he had puked at least five times. _Funny. And I always thought death couldn't scare me anymore… Turns out it can… _"Jim, do you need a doctor?"

"No… I'm okay…"

"No, you're not, and I want you to talk to me."

"I can't… you'll be in trouble if I do…"

"I don't understand what's happening. You see that picture… Oh… That shook you? My sweetheart, poor boy, that's really…"

"It's my fault… I'm the anonymous caller the Gardaí are looking for… He was on the phone while I was tied up, I heard everything, and I called the Gardaí, and now these people have killed him, and they will kill me, and they will do even worse things to me…"

"Shush, Jim, calm down… Come on, I'll make you some tea, and then you tell me what happened."

They sat down in Gloria's room. Jim told her the whole story from the beginning on. When he was finished, the look on Gloria's face had changed from curious to worried. "This is bad. Really bad."

"They'll come for me, Gloria. What do I do? I know I said I don't care, but I don't want to die. Just yet."

"Sweetie, that's understandable… Come here." She pulled him into her arms and hugged him. "Jim, do you have any idea what this means? They're probably a terrorist group. You saved the city from a disaster. You can go to the police for protection."

"Police cannot protect me. Never could."

"Then you need to disappear. Actually, I think that's the best option. You have enough money to survive for a few months if you spend it wisely. Go to London. In a city like this, they won't find you that easily."

"And leave everything behind? Sleep on the streets again?"

"There are cheap hotels. Ask Rupert, he is from London." Rupert was the guy who had his room next to Jim's. "He will give you all the details you'll need." She sighed, "And maybe you'll find another job there. A job that will be better for you."

"I… I don't know."

"Jim, listen to me. They will find you here. And God only knows what they will do to you. I would hate to see you carved up like the guy on the telly. You have such a pretty face, and it has been messed up already too often." She actually caressed it. "Leave. It'll be alright."

"You think so?"

She smiled, "Sorcha told me you are a survivor. Survive once more."

He nodded, "I will… Thank you, Gloria. For everything. You deserve much more than this. If I ever open my own serious business, I'll remember you."

"I'm sure you will." She planted a kiss on his front. "Thank you for accepting me the way I am."

"Because you're fabulous."

* * *

**Trouble knocking at his door...**


	11. Give me this one shot for my pain

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

**Title: taken from Bruno Mars feat. Damian Marley's _Liquor Store Blues_  
**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Give me this one shot for my pain...**

Jim managed to get to London without being seen. He immediately went to a cheap hotel in the East End and got comfortable there. Prostitution was big, but Jim had had enough of selling his body to men who weren't worth the dirt on his shoes. He needed something new, something that would earn him money, good money, and lots of it.

So he lay low and watched. His decision was made pretty fast. Drugs. He could see the addicts, walking around, always in search for the next shot, ready to do anything to get their fix. And there were so many… He would make a fortune. The only question was: where on earth would he get the drugs from? He lacked the contacts, he had not enough time to make some himself, and he definitely wouldn't spend his money on buying drugs and then sell them.

And then one night, he went out, armed with a baseball bat, and took down the first dealer he saw. He didn't even regret it properly. Sure, hitting somebody in the back of their head wasn't what a gentleman would do. But he wasn't a gentleman, and, frankly, people had done worse things to him. So he took the dealer's stash, tampered with the drugs to make them seem like more, made bigger portions and sold them for only a bit more than the initial price. It earned him a small fortune in a short period of time.

But what was more important, he listened. Listened to what the buyers said about other dealers. All fucked up themselves. Jim decided he needed to take a different route. He needed to stand out to get the clients. So, he went to buy a suit. Amidst all the drug dealers in their shabby band shirts and torn jeans, he looked like a trustworthy man, and soon, he got more and more clients; everybody bought his stuff because he didn't look dangerous. After all, he was still a boy, even though he wore a suit.

And because of his listening, he knew who the black sheep were, the guys that sold the really bad stuff that could kill you, so he made sure to never steal their stash. Because that was what he did, every night. Jump a drug dealer, steal his stash, resell it. It was almost too easy.

Soon, he had detected who was in charge of the drug business; the big boys. A Cuban gang, and the mafia. Of course, who else? Jim was pretty sure that the Cubans owned the East End. The mafia was probably selling cocaine in Westminster and Belgravia. He didn't know much about the Cubans, and barely spoke a word of Spanish, so he was rather clueless about their hierarchy. He just knew that drug dealers were expendable, and that many of them were offed if they lost their stash one too many times to him. The dealers changed, but their corners didn't.

* * *

And then it happened. Jim had lurked in the dark next to the corner where he knew the dealer carried the biggest stash because most clients came there. He waited patiently, and then struck. His bat landed on the side of the dealer's head; he went down without so much as a whimper. Jim put the bat away and knelt down next to the guy, looking for the stash. He had nothing on him.

Jim saw the movement to late. There was a _swish_, and he was out.

* * *

When he woke up again, his mind was clouded. It took him a while to realize what had happened. He had looked for the dealer's stash, something had moved, and… nothing. But his head was throbbing, and he felt nauseated. He had been knocked out cold. And he was… bound to a chair? Holy crap. How did that happen? He tried to find out, but his head ached too much, and he knew he was going to be sick. He fought it for a while, but then vomited. _Damn it. My only suit. _But the relief was almost instant. He looked around, careful not to make any rushed movements. Warehouse. Like in some cheap movie. He was tied to the chair with ropes. His upper body was tied to the back of it, his wrists behind it, his feet to the legs. No way out. He could do nothing but wait.

They let him wait for hours, until finally someone walked in. "Buenas noches, señor. I don't believe we have met. I am Clavo Torres. What is your name, hermoso?" Jim watched the guy. Tall, for a latino. Long curly hair of the deepest black shade Jim had ever seen. Skin the colour of cinnamon. Torres. Spanish. The Cubans. SO, they had finally got tired of him stealing their drugs. Well, he couldn't really blame them. "I'm talking to you, hermoso. What is your name?"

"James."

"James. Very nice name. Now, my boss is not very happy with you. Diego De La Garza." The Cuban drug lord. Of course Jim knew him. His name was whispered in the streets. Given that there were some other drug lords in London, but De La Garza practically owned all of them. And now he had his attention on Jim. That couldn't be good. "In fact, he would have come here personally, but he's got other vermin to kill right now. But he wants me to let you know that he does not like you."

"Aw, he doesn't? How am I gonna get over that? Is he angry cos I ruined his business? I'm really sorry…" The words were out before he had considered their impact. He was nervous, of course he was. He had left Dublin so the terrorists wouldn't capture and torture him to death, and now he was in an even bigger mess. Who wouldn't be nervous? Scared, even? But he couldn't show that. He had to hold on to his dignity. Not ever would anybody humiliate him again the way Carl Powers had done, and certainly _not_ this thug. "It won't happen again."

"That's not good enough, hermoso. Diego wants his money back. Where is the money?"

"That's mine. I earned it. But you can work for me if you want?" _Yeah, that's cool, Jim. Provoke them. _"I sure could teach you something."

The fist came out of nowhere and hit him square across his jaw. Jim could see spots in his vision, his head was swirling. He tried to blink the spots away and whispered, "Fuck…"

The man patted his cheek, "See, hermoso, this will be painful. _Mas_ painful. If you don't give us our money back, Diego himself will take over. And he knows how to break people. Better give the money up. What do you say, guaguito?"

_Guaguito…_ His mother's nickname for him. Jim blinked again. So what if he died? He would be reunited with her. With her and his father. Why was he afraid to die? It would be good, leaving this shit planet and this life that held nothing but pain for him no matter what he did. Some more pain, and he would be back with his mam and da, and it would be heavenly.

He spat out some blood and said, and his voice wasn't quivering for a second, "You want money? Go to a fucking bank." _Mam. Da. I'm coming. Don't watch now, though._

* * *

About twenty-four hours later, Jim crawled back home. He had failed. At some point, the pain, even to somebody who was used to it, had become too much to handle, and he had given up his address. They had send somebody to collect the money, and only when it was safe in their hands again, they had let him go. And now, he was dragging himself into his bathroom in this little shit-hole he called his own, now stripped of everything slightly valuable. He crawled into the shower cabin and turned the water on sizzling hot. As he watched the water run down the drain, painted a rather sickening shade of pink, he couldn't help but laughing. He had wished for nothing more than death, but no, the world clung to him and wouldn't let him leave. Fuck it.

He remained sitting there for about half an hour, before he got up, walked to the mirror and assessed the damage. There was a gash on his forehead, sinking in relatively deep, from where he had been knocked out. His nose was broken, and there were cuts below his right eye and in the corner of his mouth. He ran his tongue along his teeth; all still there. His ribs were badly bruised, but not a single one was broken. Clearly they were no amateurs: able to inflict a massive amount of pain on their victim, but leaving no permanent damage. Jim couldn't help but admire them.

Well, here he was again: broken, broke, and with no perspective. He limped over to his mattress and curled up in a ball. Not because he was sad, or weak, or anything. No. Jim Moriarty wasn't weak. He was thinking. He would come back. Stronger than ever. If the world didn't want him to die when it was everything he wished for, it would surely present him with a way out of this misery soon.

The church bell struck twelve. Jim raised his head slowly. If he wasn't mistaken totally, today was his birthday. And he wasn't.

"Well, happy birthday to you, Jim Moriarty. Seventeen years old, two murders. If that isn't a career."

* * *

**Yeah...seems the greatest Fandom of the world is getting a bit lazy with reviewing..._  
_**


	12. Feel the city breakin'

**Disclaimer: See Prologue  
**

**Title: taken from _Stayin' alive _by the Beegees.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 11 : Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'**

_Three years later…_

Jim woke up to the sun shining brightly into his flat. He kept his eyes closed and enjoyed the feeling. It was the last day of August, but summer just did not seem to want to leave: the last month had been unusually warm, apart maybe for the last week, but really, this was London, so Jim was used to rain. But today promised to be a very hot day again and Jim wondered if he should call off all his appointments for today and just remain in bed. But days off didn't exist anymore, and this day would not be an exception. So Jim sighed deeply, pulled away the covers and staggered out of bed. He made his way into the kitchen, turned the radio on and prepared some coffee. He was just in time for the news: Not that he was particularly interested in what was happening out of England. But he would meet with Stella again tonight, and she was interested in such things, and really, it couldn't harm knowing stuff about Algeria, the new Oasis album, Steve Jobs, etc… He took a sip of his coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. As per usual, the news were mostly bad, culminating in the death of the Princess of Wales. Jim shook his head; crying shame, that one. Such a good person. Those always died way too young. Like his mam. He wondered briefly how the kids were coping. Well, chances that they would turn out like he did were pretty slim, what with the powerful grandma and all. God bless her. Better than his grandma, for sure. But screw them: he had made it anyways. He turned up the volume on the radio and strutted barefoot through his living room to the balcony.

Two years, ten months, since the day he had come home to find his flat robbed by those darn Cubans. He had come home to nothing. This time, he had thought, it was over. He would never make it back again. Finally, he would die. Starve to death. Not exactly the end he had been hoping for; after all, he had done everything to avoid starvation those last couple of years. But again, death had some other people on his list and never showed up on his doorstep. Jim dusted himself off and prepared to strike back. He lurked the streets at night, trying to figure out how to get back at those bastards that had taken everything from him. Every night he went looking for that one person that would take him straight to the big boss. And then one night, and he had never given up hope, he stumbled upon Clavo Torres. Clavo just had to be one of the bigger fish; after all, he seemed to be the one who beat people into submission if the drug lord wasn't too amused. So Jim followed him, and he got lucky. Apparently Torres was not only a goonie to the boss, but one of his bodyguards. Jim heard him telling some guy in a shady bar that he had recently gotten promoted for kicking the shit out of some Irish kid that thought it could play with the big boys. Jim gritted his teeth as Torres described to the guy how his victim had been squeaking for mercy. Definitely _not_, he thought. _You'll be the one squeaking soon, _hermoso_… But I won't let you live…. _Jim didn't hesitate. The next day, early in the morning, he went to see the barkeeper and asked him what it would need to make him spike Clavo's drink. The answer was immediate, and soon Jim found himself in the backroom of the bar, pleasuring the fatso for what felt like at least twelve hours. But he kept his promise; Clavo ended up in the backstreet, out cold. Jim went through his pockets. He found the keys to a car, a wallet with £ 10000, and a knife. He didn't hesitate. The movement that cut Clavo's throat was swift, barely visible. Jim hid the body and went to look for the car. As he found it, he was disappointed; nothing led him to the big boss. So he did what he had too, and, looking back, he couldn't say he didn't enjoy it….

* * *

The next day, Clavo Torres's naked body was found on Trafalgar Square, between the front paws of one of the lions. Upon approaching, police noticed a carving on the dead man's torso.

_Come and get me. –JM_

It worked better than he had thought. The man actually really came to get him. And he came alone, which, really, was more stupid that Jim ever had thought someone capable of. Apparently, because he had given in so easily the first time, the man thought he could make him pay for the death of his bodyguard. Yet, Jim was prepared. He waited in his flat, patiently, until he heard the heavy steps on the wooden stairs… and then the scream. Jim nonchalantly got up and opened the door. "Oh, a visitor…" The man was lying on the floor, writhing, cradling his hand. "I am Jim Moriarty. Finally we meet face to face… Look at me, because I will be the last thing you see before you die. See the doorknob? And the nail sticking out of the door just above it? I hurt myself so many times on it when I opened the door, I lost count. But I figured this would be a nice way to do it… kill you…. So what I did was, I prepared the nail. I would explain to you how I did it and what I used but chances are you wouldn't understand it and I really don't want to waste your last minutes on this planet. But it was spider venom. Long story short, you will die. Pretty soon. Now… I understand you have recently had a little son. What's his name again… ah, yeah, Fidel. Like the big boss, right? Now, I trust you will want Fidel and your beautiful wife Adela, or Adelita, as you call her, to live happily ever after. I tell you something. I will let them live if you tell me where my money is. Where your resources are. If you don't, I will let my little friend, I called her Charlotte, how very fitting, don't you think, wander around in your house, and at night, when Charlotte will go and hunt for food, she will find Adela and Fidel, and she will kill them. Now, what do you say? Do we have a deal?" Of course he was bluffing. He didn't have a spider named Charlotte. Good lord, the Brazilian wandering spider was a killer weapon, never ever would Jim carry one of those around like a pet cat. The toxin was the real thing, though. Break-in into the Biology Department of the university. Of course they would notice the missing phial, but really, who cared? He didn't. He tilted his head slowly, "Tick tock…"

"Bastard…"

"Don't waste your breath, honey..." He ran his fingers over the man's arm, imitating the movement of spider legs. "Women hate spiders. And babies…"

"Okay… I tell you where you can find it all…"

"That's a good boy…"

* * *

"…_that there are currently riots and massacres in Algeria. Captain Sebastian Moran said that while he was looking forward to bring peace back to the shaken country…" _Jim raised his head at the report. Captain Sebastian Moran? Could it be…? And then he heard his voice, _"We're actually not yet sure how we are going to handle this, but the truth is that these people over there need help. We need to stop the killing and start the healing… _Jim grinned. It felt good hearing Sebastian's voice. He had often wondered, during those past few years, what the Moran family was doing; he had actually send somebody to Brighton to check on them. After a week, the man came back, saying that only the parents were living there. So, both Moran siblings were out of his reach now. At least he knew now where Sebastian was. But Sorcha… he had never called her after they had parted ways at the train station, never tried to make contact again. It was futile. What use could she be to him?

That reminded him of Stella. He had to get ready. Drugs and all were fine, and they had made him quite a rich man: a nice flat, some idiotic morons who got their asses caught selling his drugs, a cool car… But Jim was getting bored, and frankly, drugs weren't all that cool. Too much work and too many resources involved, and buyers just tended to die too often, and getting new people to try out drugs and then get them hooked was just too annoying.

So, Jim, during a lonely night, had decided to aim a bit higher. He would try and own the prostitution business. So, first of all, he had visited some of the girls. Just to talk. Pretending to be one of the sad fucks. Then he had met Stella. She was strikingly beautiful, with the longest black hair Jim had ever seen, earth coloured eyes, and curves that made models hate her. Jim had never seen a woman like her. And although he had for himself decided that he would never reveal his true looks, identity or name, he gave Stella all three of it. And he slept with her. Countless times. Not that he didn't feel like a piece of shit after it; he had never thought he could use a girl like that. But he made it up in doing his best so that she enjoyed their encounters too. Judging from the screaming, she did. Of course he never once forgot why he was doing it, but he figured after all the shit life had thrown at him, he could as well enjoy himself for once. _All work and no play… _

But he had gotten a lot of information already. He knew who the people in charge were: the mafia, of course. The Giovaninni family owned everything in this city but the drug scene in the east end; that was Jim's. As for the rest, the father of the family, Luciano, supervised as his sons worked: Marcello was the one ruling the prostitutes while Matteo made sure the rich people in Chelsea got their daily dose of cocaine to celebrate their richness. Then there were Gianna, the mother, a famous Opera soprano, who still was nothing short of brilliant even if she was almost fifty years old, and the daughter, Cinzia, who was just as good as her mother, even though she favoured mezzo-soprano. Jim had visited many of their performances, and he had to admit that he had never heard anything quite like them before. Cinzia's rendition of Bizet's _Carmen_ almost made him want to travel to Spain. But first things first. He needed more information, and Stella had proved a most valuable source. And an enjoyable one. He was actually looking forward to seeing her.

Because even Jim Moriarty was, behind all the hard shell and the brilliance and the ruthlessness just a man who liked being treated nicely.

* * *

**He's growing up.**


	13. Cos I know that revenge is sweet

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

**Title: taken from Rihanna's _G4L_  
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* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Cos I know that revenge is sweet**

Jim, hair hidden under a hat, aviators covering his eyes, made his way up the stairs. The house where Stella worked looked much better than the house he had been working in. But then again, this was London, the mafia wanted its girls to attract the rich guys, and frankly, he hadn't earned in a month what he paid Stella for an hour… well, except for that time with Sir Steven. But hell, it was worth it.

He knocked on the door. No answer. Jim frowned. Normally, Stella was waiting for him already, dressed in…. well, something sexy. Gloria would have surely known what those things were called… Anyways, normally she was waiting, and now she wasn't. Jim knocked again, "Stella? It's James. You're naked already? Cos, I wouldn't mind you open the door completely naked…"

"GO AWAY!"

Jim tilted his head; now, that was very unusual. Normally she would… well, open not only the door. "Stella, what's up?"

"I FAID GO AWAY! I DON'T WANT TO FEE YOU! LEAF."

"What happened?" He was worried. It was so alien an emotion, but he remembered it.

"NUFFING, GO AWAY!"

The door next to Stella's opened, and a similarly beautiful girl popped her head out, "Are you James?" Jim nodded. "Marcello came to see her, earlier. Since then, she hasn't stopped crying…"

Jim nodded, "And why haven't you checked on her? Instead of just listening?"

"Yeah, like I would want to get into trouble with Marcello." She slammed the door shut.

Jim shook his head and knocked on the door again, "Stella, open the door, I want to check on you." She didn't scream anymore, but he could hear her crying. His fists clenched. Crying women again. His path was lined with crying women, and he hadn't even put them there. "Stella, I am coming in, whether you want it or not." More crying. Jim took a few deep breaths and kicked the door in. "Ouch. Fuck it. It always looks so easy in the movies… Shite, Stella…"

She was curled up into a ball on her bed. The sheets were stained with blood that had already dried to a dirty brown. Her long hair was gone, cut down to her neck. Jim had to take another deep breath. This wasn't good. Not at all. From what he could see, and he could see a whole lot of her, she wasn't hurt. And yet, there was the blood. And the only thing he couldn't see…

"Stella, look at me." She turned her head, slowly. Jim wasn't innocent anymore, but good lord… Marcello, for he was pretty sure only a pimp could do such a thing, had cut her face. One large wound straight through her lips, splitting them, one on her cheek, one from her front over one eye down to the neck. Jim had to swallow, but only for a second he was shocked. Then fury formed itself in his guts. "Who did this?" He had to ask: no need to go and skin this shithead if it hadn't been him.

"I… Dfames, I…"

"WHO?" he hated himself for screaming at the poor girl, but good lord, he was…. furious didn't even cover it. She flinched and started crying again. Jim tried his best to be calm when he reached out his hand to touch her shoulder. "Come here, Stella." She threw himself at him and started wailing. He held her firmer. "It's okay, Stella, everything will be alright." _Rubbish. Nothing will be alright. How old is she, twenty? And has to live with this for the rest of her life. _"Was this Marcello?" She nodded. "Why?"

"I… I didn't want to… there waf one client… he wanted me to… it waf so humiliating… I couldn't…. the client freaked out… told Mardfello…" She had a fit now. "Dfames…"

He caressed her head, "I am so sorry, Stella." He remembered the last time a woman had cried like this on his shoulder. His mother. He had revenged her. And by God, he would revenge Stella as well. He rubbed her shoulders soothingly and whispered, "But he won't touch you again."

"What do you mean?"

"Leave it to me. I will fix this for you…"

"Dfames… he frew me out… I have to leaf. I'll die on fe freetf."

"No, you won't. You'll come with me. You can stay at my place, and I will find you a doctor who can take care of your face." He pressed his lips to her hair, "Soon, you'll be beautiful again. I swear."

"I haf no money…"

"I'll pay for it. Don't worry about anything. Just recover." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "That bastard will regret the day he crossed me…"

* * *

Jim prepared himself. After he had brought Stella to a clinic with the most qualified plastic surgeon he could find, he went to work. He invested a fortune; Italian books so he could learn the language. Within two weeks, he was proficient enough to understand conversations on most topics. He bought the fanciest suit he could find and had it tailored; it complimented his small frame just perfectly. He went to a proper hairdresser and got a decent haircut. As he looked at himself in the mirror for the first time, he thought he looked dashing, and certainly not his age. It was time to take the next step.

He made a call, "Rowan? Jim Moriarty. You and your brother, would you like some extra ten thousand quid this month?" Of course; drug dealers did anything for money.

The plan was easy; complicated schemes were fine if you didn't involve too many dumb-asses. Rowan and his brother Alvin were dumb-asses, which was exactly why Jim had chosen them for the job. Intelligent people didn't attack a leading Mafioso's daughter. Alvin and Rowan didn't even ask questions.

* * *

They caught Cinzia Giovaninni on her way to singing lessons. Apparently the father was positive that nobody would dare to attack his little baby girl, so he didn't have any bodyguards too close to her. Well, he was mistaken. Jim had long planned how to pull this off. He had actually noticed that he wouldn't mind it if those idiots hurt Cinzia. Apparently his moral threshold was slowly sinking. But he wanted Marcello. And while he was sure ravishing his sister would give the man a serious blow, Jim wanted him dead for what he had done to Stella. And, more than anything after this incident, he wanted the power over the prostitution business. He would treat the ladies right, and he had valuable insider knowledge.

So he chose a different path. He waited a few minutes, so the guys could scare Cinzia and have a bit of fun with her, before he walked around the corner to where they had dragged her. Her clothes were already torn, her make-up smudged, Alvin was covering her mouth with his paw as she was writhing under him.

Jim didn't allow himself the luxury of fear in her eyes, "Oi! You, what are you doing there?"

The guys looked up at him, and Alvin said, "Nothing, man. Just walk away slowly and pretend this never happened."

But Cinzia managed to free one arm and pull away the hand that covered her mouth. She yelped, "Please… help me…"

Rowan smacked her across the face, "Shut up, slag. Now you, leave, or you'll regret it."

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that. The lady obviously isn't much into this, so you better leave her alone."

"Or what? You're gonna do what, Paddy? Come on bro, let's teach this fucker a lesson." He dealt another blow to Cinzia's face and hissed, "You stay where you are, bitch. We'll be right back for you, and then I will tear you open." He let go of her and walked over to Jim, "I'mma kick your skinny ass so hard you'll be flying straight back to Belfast."

"Belfast is Northern Ireland, you retard... You, girl, run!" Jim lunged at Alvin, but he was quickly brought down. He had given them clear orders to not go easy on him, so soon he was screaming out in real, actual pain. He heard Cinzia dashing away, barefoot, but waved at his men to continue nevertheless; it had to look real, even if it hurt. Only when he heard some heavy footsteps approaching their location, he motioned at his men to flee the scene. Then he took a deep breath and drove his head as fast as he could into the concrete.

* * *

**And then a hero comes along... *sing***


	14. I'm a woman's man, no time to talk

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

**Title: taken from the BeeGees' _Stayin' Alive_  
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* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: I'm a woman's man, no time to talk**

_Pain... pain..._ Jim didn't want to wake up. Why, oh why, was he in pain almost every time he woke up? Something was awfully wrong with his life. But then he noticed how his bed had gotten very comfortable. Not that it wasn't all the time; in contrast to the mattress he had been lying on since Marlon Brook had entered his life, or the cheap bed he had owned in Dublin. But he hadn't invested in something spectacular when he had bought his own, not planning to spend a lot of time in it. This here, however… a cloud. He remembered something… Sorcha… that day he had napped in her bed, before she had seen the scars of the belting. But this didn't smell like her. This smelled like… fabric softener alright, but there wasn't this Green Tea smell… it smelled like… Perfume. Something light and flowery. Hairspray…. _Cinzia…_ Yeah right. He had ordered his goonies to jump her, had saved her, and then knocked himself unconscious. And he was probably lying in a hospital bed. And someone was there. A woman. Her? Well, he wouldn't take any chances. If it was a nurse, he would at least get some decent painkillers.

So he moaned, pitifully so. A bit of whimpering, hissing… then he opened his eyes. He let his eyes wander around aimlessly for a few seconds, then let them rest on the face that was watching him. Cinzia, indeed. Her left eye was swollen shut, but the other one was watching him.

He put on a smile, "Hey, there, Miss. How do you feel?"

"I am alright… thanks to you. How do you feel?"

"Like… really bad. They bloodied me up quite well. Where am I?" It was definitely not a hospital.

"In our house. When my father heard what happened, he insisted to have you brought here. Our own doctor looked after you. He says you'll be okay soon." She added, her voice barely more than a whisper, "You saved me… without you, I would have been…" she breathed, but the first tears were already rolling down her cheeks.

Jim despised her. Did she ever think about women like Stella, who were used on a daily basis, forced by people like Cinzia's brother? Nevertheless, he raised his hand to her cheek and wiped the tears away. "There, there, don't cry, lovely lady. Tears really don't suit that beautiful face." He noticed his hand, his left hand, was bandaged. "Oh, please no. Are my fingers broken again?"

"No don't worry. Your ring finger is sprained. The doctor thought it would be better to tape them all together. Don't ask me why…" She seemed to hesitate, "But, he told us your back is covered in scars. May I ask… you know…"

Inwardly, Jim smiled. Now he had her. If he had learned anything about women (or, in Gloria's case, men who enjoyed their feminine side), it was that not many women could shield themselves from feeling with a broken man. Sorcha was probably the world-champion in that discipline. He bit his lip and whispered, "My… my father… he isn't a very nice man. He isn't very fond of me, but I cannot afford moving out… I know it's pathetic, but I don't earn a lot of money, and… I'm such a wuss…" He lowered his head, hid his face behind his bandaged hand and faked a sob.

The effect was immediate, "Oh, no… you mustn't think like that." Cinzia said and threw himself into his arms.

Jim flinched at the pain she was inflicting on his bruised rips, but nevertheless hold her for a second before he pushed her away gently. He swallowed and put on a brave smile, "Thank you. You are lovely. May I ask your name?" He actually managed to blush a bit; god, he should have become an actor.

"Of course. I am Cinzia."

Jim repeated, "Cinzia… Cinzia… _Cinzia_... What a beautiful name. I could name a flower after you, if I was a gardener."

Now it was her turn to blush, "Thank you. I'd love to be a flower. What is your name?"

"James. But please, call me Jim." He smiled, but then sighed. "I should leave now. My father won't be too happy if I'm being late again, and really, I've had enough of a pasting for today…" His voice broke slightly as he touched his swollen face. "God, I must look like crap… Well, anyways, thank yo…"

He hadn't even finished the sentence properly when she took his face between her hands and kissed him, passionately. Jim could barely stop himself from rolling his eyes. He was broken and bruised, how the heck did she think hugging and kissing him was a good idea? Not that it hurt him, well, at least not exceptionally, but still… He remembered Sorcha, who had been there after Carl Powers had beaten him up. She had touched him too, but she hadn't had another choice. Recovery position and all. And she had caressed his face, just a bit, hesitant, not knowing if she hurt him. Cinzia, however… she didn't seem to care much. Or maybe it was her view of passion, who knew? He didn't care.

He broke the kiss only when the lack of oxygen almost made him faint. "Wow… I…" He licked his lips. "I…" He hoped she would say something soon, because, frankly, he was out of stuff he could stammer right now.

She didn't disappoint him, "Do you know that you are a very brave man, Jim?"

He shook his head, gallantly, "Everybody would have done that. I am glad to see you are alright…" He raised his hand to her swollen eye. "I'm sorry I was so late, though. How anybody can voluntarily hurt a beautiful face like yours is beyond my understanding…" He leaned in and gave the abused cheek a soft peck. "You are very beautiful indeed, Cinzia." He breathed the name. He could see the goose bumps on her arm. "I wish I could stay here and look at you some more… but I have to leave. Thank you for everything."

She sighed, "Can I… can I see you again?"

"I would love to. How about dinner tomorrow? I don't have much money, it's not going to be fancy…"

"I could invite you…"

"No, please, I insist. I'll pick you up at Victoria, tomorrow? 7 p.m.?"

"It's a date…"

Jim smiled. He had her. The whole point of this stupid charade was to lure this girl into his web. And it had worked. He had caught her. He had immobilized her. Now, he would suck her out. And by the time she was but an empty shell, completely devoted to him, he would do the same to her family: Catch, immobilize, suck out. Not one of them would make it out of this confrontation alive.

* * *

**R&R. Please. This is getting kinda frustrating.**


	15. Di quella pira l'orrendo fuoco

**Hugs to those that have reviewed. :-*  
**

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

**Title taken from the aria "Di quella pira" from Verdi's _Il Trovatore_  
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* * *

**Chapter Fourteen : Di quella pira l'orrendo fuoco**

Jim waited. Patiently. He dated Cinzia for half a year, although the family welcomed him with open arms already after two weeks. He wanted to know the hierarchy, wanted to see how they lived, waited for the perfect moment to strike. Two months after the beating, the doctor who had taken care of Stella called. Apparently the wounds were deeper than he had at first thought. _She will never look the same again. We can be happy if Miss De Luca will stop drooling eventually. About her mental state… I think she will need therapy soon. _It didn't look good. Jim was now more determined than ever to make the family bleed. And especially Cinzia. She was worse than the plague. During the first two months, she wouldn't let him out of her eyes. He had a hard time keeping his business running, as he couldn't produce any drugs if she was around. To get rid of her he even went so far as to give a thousand pounds to some fifty year old bodybuilder to play his father when Cinzia had announced she would like to crash at his place. It had been a fun thing to play. Just when Cinzia had arrived at the door to his flat, the man started screaming and yelling and insulting Jim in the worst way possible. He slapped him, not hard enough to really hurt Jim but still with enough force to leave a finger shaped bruise on Jim's cheek. And then, the final act came when he opened the door and threw Jim, whom he had grabbed by the neck and shaken like a stray dog, out of the flat with such force that he hit the wooden floor. Jim apologized to Cinzia, he never meant for her to witness ugly scenes like this, and asked her to just leave him alone for that night; he was just too embarrassed. The two men had a nice, cold beer after that, and Cinzia never asked to sleep at his place again.

But the more important thing was to figure out how he could destroy this family, because that was the only thing he could think of. Destroy them. Shatter them. And own their business. The moment was clear; Cinzia would celebrate her twenty-first birthday soon, because, Jim almost cracked, then she could finally go and have champagne in the U.S. in some fancy club. Jim noticed that night he was even angrier than usual: she worried about drinking champagne in the United States while other girls her age were selling their bodies to avoid starving on the streets. This day, this day that should be a celebration, would be the right day to end their lives. A nice circle. Jim liked it. And how could you celebrate the ending of their reign of terror better than with a nice and powerful bomb.

Getting the things he needed to build a bomb wasn't too difficult. He travelled to the closest delfs and nicked some dynamite. Making the time fuse was a piece of cake, too. The most difficult thing was placing his finished bomb so it wouldn't be found. He managed to sneak it into the kitchen and hide it inside the stove just before the party started. After all, they weren't going to cook themselves. Jim had set the time to 11:17 p.m. He would leave at around 10:30 p.m., sneak out through the garden, and look for a nice place from where he could see the house go boom. Regrets? No. Not at all. Okay, he was about to erase a family, but really, they had it coming. Besides, soon he would own their side of town, drugs and hookers. So much more work to be done. Good, because he was getting rather bored with his life as it was. Although the game had been fun, lying and acting his way into the family, until they all loved him. Even Marcello.

Which was why Jim was now sitting in his flat, waiting for Marcello. They two had spent quite some time together too during those last months. Jim despised being with him, but he needed as much information on the business as he could get. They went to fight classes, and Jim actually noticed he needed some serious fighting skills if he were to survive in this world permanently. So he signed up for karate and kick-boxing. After classes, they would go out for drinks. But today Jim had invited Marcello over to his place. His "father" was on a "business trip", so he invited Marcello over for a nice beer before the big evening. Jim had planned it thoroughly. He would pretend to ask Marcello if he was alright with Jim asking Stella to be his wife, because he intended to ask her father, too, but he wanted his mate's blessing first. Then they would have a beer, depending on Marcello's answer either a celebration or a calm-down beer. And then Marcello would die. Of course it would be detected. But he wanted the world to know it was James Moriarty who did this; who had poisoned Marcello for doing what he did to an innocent woman. Who had blown up the house of the Giovanini family. Who would own the city, starting tonight.

When Marcello arrived at Jim's flat, Jim had already prepared the beer. "Oh good, thanks, I'm so thirsty. It's incredible hot out there, isn't it?" He downed the beer in one go. "Mh… it tastes rather funny, don't you think? So, you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Yeah… it's kinda… I'm a bit nervous…" He ran his fingers through his hair. "I… You know I love your sister… and I know there's many men out there who would be much better suited to be her… well… Do you think your father would mind if I marry Cinzia?"

Marcello frowned, "Seriously? You. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like you, but… you're really not good enough for her. I mean, come on, you get beaten up by your father. And many other people in class. I would rather have my sister was with someone who could defend her should the need arise. Someone like me."

Jim felt his ears go red. "Someone like you? I see, yeah. Kinda easy to be the big man when you're taking it out on a girl, isn't it?

"What do you mean? I'm not taking it out on girls."

"Then what about the collection of ponytails you showed me? You know, the one you keep in your room?"

"These aren't girls, they're slags. Scum. Every woman who sells her body for money fucking deserves being treated like that. You know, I actually plan to ask my dad if we can get our hands on the boys, too. Fucking rent boys…" Jim took a deep breath. "What's the matter with you? What, you're one of them?"

"I used to be."

Marcello put the bottle down, "And you're inviting me over here? What, you wanna have sex with me? Fucking queer. You can be happy I don't fucking beat it out of you, but I don't want to hurt Cinzia. But if I see you at the party tonight, I'mma call my bro's dealer friends. They'll tear your ass apart for a bit of extra coke."

Jim tilted his head, "Oh, don't worry, you won't see me at the party tonight. But that's because you're not going to be there…"

"What do you mean? What…" He made a grimace, "What's that shit beer anyways?" He flicked his tongue a few times, "What the…?" He brought his fingers up to his tongue. "Is that…?"

"Tobacco, yes. I hope you don't mind, I dissolved a few cigarettes in your first beer."

"What?"

"Yeah. And with the way you downed this, you should soon meet your maker." Jim smiled. "Now, this should happen really quickly, it's going to be really messy, so I don't really want to witness." Marcello started retching. "Aw well, if you're starting already, I can as well stay here and watch you writhe. Do you want to know why I did this?" More retching. "Stella. The way you treated her… That was really low. The doctors told me she is suicidal. I hope she pulls through. But then again, what kind of life will she lead? Drooling all the time, her speech is impaired, and I've heard when she eats it's rather messy. That was you, you know. Who did this to her. And this is me taking revenge. I would have loved to beat you to death, but let's face it, you're stronger than me. And I think this here will be just as painful." Marcello had started vomiting by now. "And I won't stop here. Tonight, dear Marcello, I will blow your family to pieces. All of them. With a bomb so powerful they might find fingers having been blown as far as Scotland. Why am I doing this? Because I want to take over this city." Jim rocked back and forth. "It's going to be so funny."

"You… bast…" Another wave of nausea, and Marcello couldn't finish his sentence.

"I know. But I am good at this." He glanced at his watch. "Well, I'd better be off. Party's about to start. But don't worry. The bomb is going to be much quicker even than this." He got up from the chair and stood above Marcello, who was writhing on the floor in sheer agony. "I have another present from Stella for you though." He dealt a ferocious kick to Marcello's face. "Burn in hell, you moron." And with that, he left the man to die.

* * *

The rest of the evening was much less dramatic. Everything had gone according to plan, and while he got comfortable in the grass on a hill close enough to hear the noise from the house, yet far enough so he wouldn't be hurt by the bomb, debris or shrapnel, he could hear Cinzia singing the _Habanera_. "I should really travel to Spain. Sounds like fun over there." He glanced at his watch. 11:14, three more minutes to go.

There was applause, and Cinzia started a new aria, "Strideeee la vahahahampa…." (1)

_Stride la vampa. Giuseppe Verdi. __Il trovatore. How very fitting. _Jim had to grin. Two more minutes. He had already seen the rendition of _Il trovatore_, but somehow he couldn't really get into Verdi. But there was another song he remembered, a duet…. _What was it again… Ah, yeah… Di quella pira. It's all about fire in that opera… What was he singing again? Ah… I remember…" _Thirty seconds to go. Jim focused his eyes on the building and counted the seconds. _Stella, this one's for you_. Three… two… one…

_BOOM!_

"Non può frenarmi il tuo martir..." (2)

* * *

When he got home, Jim stepped over Marcello's body and headed for the living room. He would dispose of the fucker later. Now, he wanted to see the results. And of course, every TV Station had by now sent their people to the smoking ruins of what used to be the home of the most notorious family in London.

Jim poured himself a glass of beer and sat down on his couch, "See, Marcello. Told you. All your business is mine now. I'll have so much fun…" The smell was almost unbearable. "Good lord, we should have met at your flat. I think I have to set fire to this one, too…." He took a sip from the beer- and froze.

On the screen, face covered in blood and ashes, but very much alive, was Cinzia. She cried, she wailed, she pushed people away and headed for the camera. She was cradling her arm which was clearly broken, but it wasn't pain so much that distorted her voice as it was… hysterics. "JIM! I'LL FUCKING GET YOU. I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU FOR DOING THIS!" Then her voice calmed down again, as the tears took over, yet what she said now was better to understand than her previous screaming, "You, out there. Everybody. I'll give a million pounds to the one person that brings me James Moriarty's head! Two million if you bring him to me alive. Five million if you torture him in front of me." Some older chap, Jim recognized him as the doctor, pulled her away from the camera. She was now screaming again. "YOU WILL FUCKING DIE, JIM!"

Jim sighed, "Crap, she survived." He turned the TV off and leaned back against the pillows. "Five million quid if somebody tortures me in front of her. Nice touch." He turned his attention to Marcello. "I'm starting to have a bit of respect for her. Seems I need to bribe a few people. Thank God I'll have a raise in income, thanks to the girls who will now work for me… Better get started, then." He picked up the phone and dialled a number. "Gloria? It's Jim Moriarty. Remember when I said I would call if I had a job for you? I need somebody to watch some ladies for me."

* * *

(1) _Stride la vampa - _Verdi's _Trovatore_

(2) _Di quella pira - _Verdi's _Trovatore_


	16. Je suis le gardien du sommeil

**Thanks, you beautiful people. :o)  
**

**Disclaimer: see Prologue  
**

**Title: from Shakira's - _Lo quiero a morir_  
**

* * *

**Chapter 15 : ****Je suis le gardien du sommeil de ses nuits**

_Four years later_

Christmas Eve. How Jim hated Christmas. Even the criminal underworld decided to took a few days off. Gloria spent it with her wife and her wife's new husband, which left Jim with no company. He could of course pay one of the girls, or a few, to give him a good time, but he felt that they were the one who really deserved that time off. He didn't want to grinch around and ruin the days for everybody, so he had decided to spend it at home, watching _It's a beautiful life _and eat some take-away.

He got comfortable on his couch (new flat. He had finally moved to Chelsea) and turned on the TV. Commercials. Sitcoms. _The Black Adder_ Christmas Special. He grinned. The Grinch or Scrooge, they knew all about Christmas. Hated it just as much as he did. He took a bite of his pizza and changed channels. More Sitcoms. Christmas Mass. He sighed. His mother would probably take it personal if he didn't watch at least until it was time for the Lord's Prayer. He chewed absentmindedly as he tried to remember how he felt when he was young and his mother all but dragged him and his da to church. Jim knew why his father hated it; between all the Catholics, he always felt like a sinner, and they sure made him feel like it. They watched him as if he intended to steal the offertory box or say something very un-catholic, or worse, refuse to ask Mary to pray for him, for he surely needed her assistance. Why his father had put up with all of this crap… well, he loved Jamie. Which was why he went with her to Church, why he would have agreed to have Jim raised as a catholic, etc. But he had always suffered through all the services, and only smiled again when they were home, and Jamie kissed him and thanked him for his love and support.

"… _and let us pray for our missing soldiers in Afghanistan, the Lord may dry their tears and teach them to forgive their captors. _

Jim dropped the pizza box. What had that cleric just said? Captain Sebastian Moran? Missing? In Afghanistan? Jim immediately switched channels again for news broadcast. And there it was:

"Breaking News: five soldiers missing in Afghanistan. Nothing has been known about their whereabouts. The Prime Minister says that while it is entirely possible that the men have been kidnapped by radical groups, we should not panic now." Pictures were shown of the missing soldiers. And there, the fourth picture, it was him. Smiling, leaning against a truck, a rifle in his hands, dog tags dangling from his neck, naked chest, profusely tanned… So alive. No, no, it was impossible. He couldn't be. Jim turned the TV off and walked on the balcony. He had an emergency pack of cigarettes stashed away, when he got irritated or nervous, or if he needed to poison someone again. When he lit the first one he knew that this one pack wasn't nearly enough.

Sebastian. Sebastian Moran. His best friend's brother. The one who had found his mother's dead body. Who had gone into the house to look after her when Jim had asked him, who had been ready to take Brook on. Who had defended him against Carl Powers. Who was now as good as dead. Jim knew the Prime Minister was just trying to calm the public down; the truth was that they had probably been snatched by some terrorist group, maybe the Taliban themselves. Sooner or later a video would show up, with Sebastian blindfolded, kneeling in front of some masked guy with a huge sword in his hand, which would then be used to…

"No." Jim shook his head. That was unacceptable. Something had to be done. And if the government didn't want to do something because it seemed like too much of a hassle for just five men, then Jim had to step in. And he knew exactly where to go. He stomped the cigarette out and dashed into his bedroom, where he put on his best suit, knowing fully well it might not survive this night. He was probably mad for doing this. But there was no time for complicated schemes; Sebastian, if he was still alive, was probably being tortured just now. His time was ticking.

* * *

Jim knew of Rashid through one of his dealers, Hamed. He was here to recruit men for the war, English men, who were ready to leave their lives behind to serve the great Allah. And, just like the guys in Germany, he hid away from the public eye, although Jim was sure the Government knew of Rashid's existence. The house where he was living was old, good neighbourhood, but nothing posh. Jim knew it because he knew everything that went on in this city. So far, he hadn't cared much about what Rashid was doing, for as long as he didn't mess up Jim's business, Jim preferred not to deal with people like him. But the stakes had been changed. There was one life on the line Jim cared about.

Of course Rashid knew he was coming. He had ears and eyes everywhere. So when Jim knocked on the door, four rather burly bodyguards grabbed him and dragged him to a large cellar. He was pushed against the wall, and brutal hands shook him down in search for weapons. Jim let it happen, although it reminded him too much of hungry clients, especially Frank. When they were done, they dragged him to a chair and bound his hands together tightly behind his back. The rope immediately cut into his wrists, but Jim didn't make a noise. He knew they had to do that; after all, he had a reputation by now.

That was only confirmed as Rashid, an old man with a long grey beard stepped out of the shadows, "James Moriarty. I am Rashid. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Business." Jim answered, trying to keep his voice steady as the pain in his wrists increased. "You, or some people you know, have something I want back."

"And what would that be?"

"Captain Sebastian Moran."

Rashid nodded, putting on a sad face, "Ah, yes, I've heard. Unfortunate. Very unfortunate indeed."

"I want whoever holds him to let him go this instant."

Rashid laughed, "That is very lovely. But you are still just a child, Mr Moriarty. Barely twenty. Why do you think anybody would listen to you, or, do you a favour like that?"

*Because I am sure there is something you would want from me in exchange for Captain Moran's life. Remember, Rashid, you might be on first name basis with the big boss, but _I_ still own most of the profitable business in this town. And as long as you don't have anything more than just this house and a few dim-witted followers, you are never going to take the crown from me. London is mine." The obvious disrespect earned him a punch in the face. "Oh, _please_. I have been kicked around and beaten all my life. Do you really think you can scare me like that?" He shook his head. "So, Rashid, what do you say? You and I make a deal? Captain Moran's life for… let's say the drugs?"

Rashid grinned, "This man must mean quite a lot to you if you're willing to give that up. Let's see how far you will go. You get to keep the drugs. I want the prostitutes."

"No, sorry, that's not gonna happen, Rashid. I know how you guys treat women, and I will not let that happen. You get the drugs. All the resources, all the clients, all the information you need to keep it flourishing."

Rashid smiled wider, "I don't care for drugs, Mr Moriarty. What I care for is chastity. What these women are doing is punishable. I want to be the one that punishes them. Me and my men. If you don't agree to this, consider our deal finished." He chuckled. "But I have to tell you that every second you are wasting here will leave a permanent scar on the soul of Captain Moran. If you want him to survive, you have no choice but to give up the fallen, Mr Moriarty. What will it be?"

Jim gritted his teeth so much his jaw started cracking. The man was absolutely right. Every second he was wasting here would allow these bastards to torture Sebastian. But… it was one life for the life of the ninety-seven women who had sworn him allegiance, who worked so hard… Who knew what these bastards would do to them. Acid, beatings, mutilations, executions… Jim knew he would lose, either way. Somebody would die. But his decision was made; he had about… what, ten seconds to save Sebastian Moran? But as soon as he was free, he had a lifetime to save his girls. Okay, there was the possibility some would fall victim to these predators. But Jim would come back, would come back and off them, one after the other.

He raised his head, "Set him free."

Rashid smiled, "Wise decision, Mr Moriarty."

* * *

When Jim woke up the next morning, news reported that a severely dehydrated Captain Moran had been found in the desert, close to where he had gone missing. He was rushed to a hospital, but nothing leaked through about his condition. It didn't matter to Jim. The most important thing was that Sebastian was alive, and would make it. Hopefully.

* * *

Now, it was time to repair the damage. As fast as possible. Jim let Gloria know what had happened. When she had heard that Jim had tried to save the brother of her beloved Sorcha, she wasn't angry that he risked all their lives, but promised to warn the girls. Jim for his part supplied every single one of the ninety-seven girls with a gun (easy peasy. After all, since the death of the Giovannini family, organized crime was his as well, and really, weapons were so easy to lay hands on…), and waited.

None of Rashid's men survived it.

And then Jim went for Rashid himself. With all the bodyguards dead, the old man was alone in his house.

Jim made him kneel on the exact same spot where he had been tied to a chair only one night earlier. Rashid didn't put up a fight as Jim rested the muzzle of the gun on his neck. Of course, why would he, with the virgins and all.

Jim cocked the gun, "You never thought it was gonna be that easy, did you?"

"I did, Mr Moriarty. I should have known better. I underestimated you. Just like the Giovanninis did."

"Yeah. I can't believe how stupid people can be. If anyone had given me a real challenge… Now, I suppose I have to thank you for Captain Moran's release. Did you talk to the men who captured him?"

"Yes."

Jim pressed the gun into Rashid's neck. "What is his condition? News reports are being very secretive. You know I will kill you, so you might as well be honest with me. Nothing. To. Lose."

"Mr Moriarty, you have no idea what happens out there in the desert. When my people get their hands on your people. If Captain Moran is lucky…"

Jim's finger itched, "No "ifs". I want the actual facts."

Rashid chuckled, "Are you sure you can handle them? You say you have been kicked around and beaten all your life. This, my friend, is much more. Sebastian Moran is going to be a scarred man. A broken man. You would have done him a bigger favour if you hadn't bought him out." Another chuckle, "He will envy those who died."

"I should torture you for what your men have done to him." Jim noticed his voice was rather thick now. "But every second you spend on this planet, pain filled as it may be, is a fucking disgrace." And with that, he pulled the trigger.

* * *

Sebbie :(


	17. Even before all the fame

**Disclaimer: see prologue  
**

**Title: taken from Usher and Alicia Keys's _My Boo_  
**

* * *

**Chapter 16 : Even before all the fame**

_One year later_

"And another one gone, and another one gone, another one bites the dust…" Jim hummed happily as he went over his folders. It had been a good week so far. Since Jim didn't have to deal with the scum on the streets anymore, he actually sort of enjoyed his job. Gloria was still doing great; she worked her arse off to give the ladies a good life, and Jim had heard the girls saying that the way they were treated made the whole job bearable. They were allowed to refuse clients without having to fear a punishment. They got to keep a huge amount of the money. And if one of the girls wanted to leave, Jim let her go. No pressure. However, if someone tried to fuck him over, then they had hell to pay. Fortunately, Gloria had made that clear to the girls, so that so far, Jim never had to punish one of them. Gloria handled most of the business alone, so all Jim had to do was to deal with _his_ clients. He had taken over the whole organized crime business, and now spend most of his waking time to solve the problems of people who couldn't help themselves anymore. Other than _The Godfather_ though, Jim rarely did things for free; only when a client came to him with something where he could have fun wrecking his brains over it he usually didn't charge them a dime. Most of it was fairly boring and simple though.

* * *

Which was why he didn't have anything to do when the phone rang that afternoon. It was Gloria, "Hey darling. I just wanted to let you know that Natalia was set free."

Jim frowned, "Set free?"

"Yeah. Remember, the fatso? Who wanted her to… well, doesn't matter, she refused her services, he got violent, she knocked his teeth out, he sued her. I told you about it."

Jim had no idea what she was talking about, "I don't know…"

He could hear her sigh, "Jim, you need to sleep more."

"I'm not tired."

"But your brain is not working properly. You actually forgot the whole thing. We had to look for a lawyer ourselves."

"Well, seems he was good. No charges, then?"

"No charges." She paused. "Jim, you need to sleep more. Sorry to repeat that."

"Call me when you have news."

"Jim, wait…"

He hung up. Of course he didn't need more sleep. He just had so much on his plate, so many clients, he was bound to forget one or the other. There were always little things he missed, and it made him furious. He needed to be perfection if he wanted to avoid being captured in the long run.

The phone rang again. Oh, this woman could be a nightmare! "Gloria, I told you I don't need more sleep, for crying out loud."

The voice that answered wasn't Gloria's. Nor any of his clients. But the seven words the voice uttered through a veil of tears were more than enough to make him forget Gloria as well as any client.

"Jim? It's Sorcha. I need your help."

* * *

He met with her in Victoria Station. The station was so busy 24/7 that chances they were overheard were really small. She was sitting with a beer in front of her at a table and let her eyes wander over the crowd. He watched her for a second. How long…? Ten years. She had grown up. Her long hair was gone, cut short with a fringe that covered her left eye. She was wearing a brown skirt and a brown blazer over her white blouse, and flats. Probably a job in the city. Not well-paid, though. All of her clothes were a bit too large, and she looked stressed out. All the more reason to immediately fix whatever problem she had.

He walked over to her table, "Sorcha."

A split second later he held her in his arms. She had literally thrown himself at him. So much for discretion. "Jim! Jim, it's so good to see you again! Oh, you look so good!"

He couldn't help but grin, "You look good, too. Job in the City?"

"Oh, I wish, then I probably wouldn't be in such trouble." She sighed.

Jim motioned her to sit down, "Then we shouldn't lose any time. Just, how did you know my number?"

"Natalia. I defended her in court. She noticed I was a bit… sad, and asked what happened. When I told her, she told me to call you. Apparently you've become some sort of consultant?"

"Yeah, sort of. So, you are the young lawyer who got my girl out of jail? Thank you."

"You're welcome. The guy was scum."

"So I've heard." Jim got comfortable on the chair. "So, tell me, what can I fix for you?"

She blushed, "Listen, I don't have much money, I…"

He shook his head, "Don't worry about the money. Your mother has stuffed me with so much food, I probably owe you like six fixes. How are your parents, by the way?"

She bit her lip, "My father is dead. He… he died from a heart-attack when Sebastian was missing in Afghanistan. Doctors couldn't save him."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He really was. Aidan Moran had been the sort of man Jim would have loved to have as a surrogate father. "How is Sebastian, then? I heard what happened."

"It's so weird. He got set free like two days after they napped him. The only one, actually. But…" She swallowed. "I don't think he has recovered. Which is why I am here. Somebody is blackmailing me."

"With what?"

"Pictures." She took an envelope out of her purse and handed it over to Jim. "The guy told me he has more where these come from. He wants one million quid and…" she blushed, "sex. From me. I don't have the money, Jim."

Jim flipped through the pictures. They showed Sebastian, and some skinny bloke that was definitely of Arabian origins. And whatever Sebastian was doing, the bloke on the floor didn't enjoy it. "Oh, that's bad… Who took the pictures?"

"Apparently the blackmailer's brother. Jim, I don't know what to do, I mean, the sex is…"

"No. You're not gonna do anything. You'll give me the exact details of what the blackmailer said, and I will fix it for you."

"Do you have that amount of money?"

Jim grinned, "I don't need that amount of money to fix this. I will talk to the guy."

"You think that's enough?"

Jim winked, "Let me show you something." He turned his head to the barkeeper and waved. Two minutes later, the bartender brought him a whiskey. "See. People know me. I don't need to go to the bar, I get my drinks catered to me."

"You own the bar?"

"I own the city." He leaned in closer, "Diego De La Garza? I killed him. The Giovaninni family? I blew them up." He left out the bit about how he had helped set Sebastian free. "This city is mine." She looked at him, and he could tell she didn't believe him. "Listen, I know this sounds very… But you'd better believe me."

"Do I have to be afraid of you now?"

Jim shook his head, "No, Sorcha. I would never lay a hand on you, you know that. It doesn't make a difference if I killed two people or twenty, or two hundred."

"I still don't have the money to pay you."

"As I said, don't worry about the money. If it weren't for you and your family, I wouldn't be here. Take this as me paying my debts. So, what did the guy say? A million and sex, or…?"

"Or his brother will go to Sebastian's boss and show him the pictures. Dishonourable discharge and a prison sentence. Sebastian… I don't think he could survive that."

"It won't come to that, I promise. I have dealt with other people, better people than this guy." He leaned back and flashed a grin, "Give me his name."

"Charlie Milverton."

Jim nodded and got up, "Give me twenty hours. In the meantime, you go and have some me-time. You look worried. Did Gloria pay you already?"

"Somebody paid me, yeah, don't know if it was Gloria, though."

"Good. Then take that money and go to a Spa or so. I'll get back to you when I'm done."

"Jim… thank you so much, I…"

"You're most welcome, Sorcha."

* * *

When he left the station, he called Gloria, "You know the lawyer was Sorcha, right?"

"Yes. I hoped she would call you. Did you two have a nice chat?"

"Yes, indeed. You know I don't like it if you keep secrets like that from me?"

"Yes. Anything more?"

"Add a zero to whatever amount of money you gave to Sorcha for her getting Natalia out of her mess."

"But Jim…"

"I'll call you later."

* * *

**Always the gentleman, our Jim. **


	18. Sweet reunion, Jamaica and Spain

**This one is especially for you, E. Congrats again. The world is ur playground. **

**Disclaimer: see Prologue**

**Title: taken from Y_ou know I'm no good - _Amy Winehouse**

* * *

**Chapter 17: Sweet reunion, Jamaica and Spain**

Jim decided to take on Charlie Milverton alone. Of course he could hire some thugs to beat him into submission, but this was about two people he cared for, and he didn't want to bring in more people than necessary.

So the same evening, he got comfortable in Milverton's flat and waited for the man to come home. When finally the lights went on, and he heard feet shuffle through the hall towards the living room, he shifted positions to look casual.

"Mr Milverton."

Charlie Milverton was young, probably younger than Jim, with ruffled blond hair and green eyes. And right now, he looked startled, "Who are you?"

"James Moriarty. And you are Charlie Milverton."

"And what the fuck are you doing in my flat?"

"Business. Come on, have a seat."

"I don't want to take a seat. I will call police."

"I wouldn't do if I were you…" Jim sing-songed. "Besides, this is just casual talking, so far… now take a seat before I put a bullet into your kneecap."

That worked. Charlie sat down on his living room table. "What do you want?"

"I am here to talk about your offer to Miss Moran."

Now Milverton grinned, "Ah, yeah. Quite the looker, that bird. So, she came to see you about this matter with her brother?"

"Yes. And your offer is not acceptable."

"So is her brother's behaviour. My bro told me he messed up the Arabs quite nicely. I'm sure Sebbie wouldn't want people to know what he does."

"Nevertheless, I will not accept this. You can have 250000 pounds for the pictures. Nothing more."

Charlie grinned, "Do you really think you or Miss Moran are in the position to negotiate with me? I want a million, and I want to screw her."

Jim clenched a fist, but otherwise remained cool, "How about 500000 pounds and one of my girls? Big choice."

"No, Jimmy. A million and Moran. It's as easy as that."

"Don't call me that. You know I could just shoot you right now."

"Of course, yeah. But then again, if my brother doesn't hear from me in the next couple of hours, he will show his superior the pictures. And while you might be good, even you cannot jet to the desert in the next few hours. It's a million and Moran, or ten years in jail for her bastard brother."

"Or I could force you to tell your brother everything's alright. Believe me, after the nice picture show I had this afternoon, I learned some new things."

"Of course you could that. But how can you know me and my brother don't have a sort of code, or a safe word, that could easily be used in any conversation, and that would tip him off that something's wrong?"

"Then I could still kill you."

"Yes, but the damage would be done, right? Sebbie would end up in jail." He smiled. "Listen, Jimmy, there's nothing you can do but to convince Miss Moran to sleep with me. And give me the money. Although… since I know you're on it now, I'd say we go for two millions, how does that sound?"

"I'd say you're pretty reckless. Trying to provoke me. Could end really bad for you and your brother." Jim knew he was grasping at straws. Charlie had shown him that there was no way out. "I could for instance call Sebastian and tell him what your brother is up too. He'll kill him while I do you in. Make it look like an accident."

Charlie seemed to think, "Yeah, yeah, of course you could do that. Still, that would give any of us enough time to rat Sebbie out. Besides, the pictures are hidden. Some here, some over there. And Simon isn't the only one who's involved in this. Sebastian would have to kill his whole company. How will he make that look like an accident?" Again, the smile, "No way out."

Jim had to realize that too. "Okay. Now, I am ready to pay you whatever you ask. But Miss Moran is out of the picture. You will not lay a finger on her."

Charlie giggled, "What, you want her all for yourself? I can understand that. She isn't all that beautiful, but she's got a nice rack. I can't wait to bury myself in every single one of her holes…"

"That's not gonna happen."

"It is. Or her dear brother is going down."

Jim got up, "That your last word?"

"Yap."

"Then do as you please. But I will come for you. At some point."

"Do as you please. And say hello to Miss Moran."

* * *

"So this is why they call it 'Walk of shame'…" Jim thought as he knocked on Sorcha's door.

She opened, "Jim?" Then she saw his face, "Oh no."

"I failed. I'm sorry."

"Come in…" They sat down in the living room. "What happened?"

"He has it all planned out. There is no way of getting Sebastian out of this. I offered him a new deal, I threatened him… The only thing he wants is you. And two million."

"Okay, then I'll guess I…"

Jim shook his head, "No, Sorcha. If you give in once, he will ask you for things again and again. This is what people like us do. I'm sorry, but… my hands are tied."

"So, Seb…"

Jim nodded, "The best thing he can do is run now. I'm so sorry, Sorcha. This is the first time I failed. I was sure…"

"Don't worry, Jim. You did what you could. I am so thankful." She knelt down in front of him and planted a short kiss to his lips. "I'm so glad I got to see you again. I missed you so much."

He smiled a bit, "Thank you. I would say I missed you too, but I was much too busy to even think of you."

"Yeah, that's what I wanted to hear… So, this is it, then? I'm going to lose you again? I mean…"

"I thought of something…" Jim hesitated. "It's a big deal. You know, right now, you can still pretend you didn't know about what I do. If you say 'yes' to the offer I make… then you'll hang with me when the day comes. I want you to think about this."

"Make your offer."

"I need someone to schedule my stuff. Gloria is right, I have trouble remembering everything because it's a lot. Business is blooming because everybody has got their problems and wants me to fix them. I need somebody who can keep track of what I do and of what happens outside of the things I'm busy with."

"A secretary?"

"Yeah, somehow. Right now, I still deal with clients personally, but that's bound to go wrong at some point. With my body-count, I cannot put myself in the open too often anymore. You are the only person besides Gloria I trust enough. I would pay you well." He had to grin, "That's funny, because, as a lawyer, you work on the other side. But I want you to think about this. You're kinda the only option I have."

"Would I still continue my work as lawyer?"

"In case I need one for any of my clients, yes."

She seemed to think about it, "What about us?"

Jim knew the question would pop up, "Nothing. For me nothing has changed. And if you fuck me over, I will dispose of you. We may of course continue as we did, with the occasional sex, but that's about it. It's gonna be boss and employee. Right now, you are under my protection, and if you say 'no', you'll still be. If you take this job, you still will be, too. Unless you rat me out."

She bit her lower lip, before she said, "I'll take the job."

"Why?"

She shrugged, "It sounds good. I won't betray you, so I don't have to fear to be 'disposed of'. Besides, I am sick and tired of playing for the good guys. Seb was a good guy too, before he got captured, and all he got was the Colonel and a handshake and a 'go back, we need your insider knowledge'. Nobody cared what was going on inside him."

"Did you see him? After…"

"Yes. He never said what had happened, but I could see somehow he had changed. He was… so cold. And when he heard that our father died…" She swallowed. "And now this. Dishonourable discharge. The military was all he lived for. I don't know if he will recover from that."

Jim couldn't imagine Sebastian being broken, "I'm sure he will."

"And then jail. What can he get for this, ten years?"

"Don't worry. That is something I can and will fix. I know some guys. They'll let him off."

"Really?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah. Now, I have to leave, I need to make a few calls. I say you try and get some sleep now. Because tomorrow, you'll need to get accustomed to your new job."

"How can I thank you for all this?"

"Be a good soldier for me."

* * *

**"We're like how we were again..." - Amy Winehouse, _You know I'm no good_**


	19. Put us together

**Lala, summer in the city... **

**Disclaimer: see Prologue**

**Title: taken from Jay-Z's and Beyoncé's _03 Bonnie and Clyde_. It's like their song.**

* * *

**Chapter 18: ****Put us together, how they gon' stop both us?**

It turned out that Jim wouldn't even have needed to make the phone calls.

The news of a soldier manhandling captives in Afghanistan came out two days after Jim had visited Milverton. Colonel Sebastian M. was immediately discharged and apprehended by military police. He was flown in chains back to England. And there he made a daring and successful escape. Jim couldn't help but admire the absolute cheek and force with which Sebastian escaped the police as soon as his plane had touched English soil. They tried for weeks to find him.

Jim had more luck. Again, he waited patiently, while Sorcha was almost freaking with worry about the whereabouts of her brother. Jim knew that Sebastian would need money eventually, so he checked every bank robbery, every assault, every break-in in the city for a trace that could lead him to Sebastian. All his dealers and girls were informed that if they saw a tall blond man that matched the description of the fugitive Colonel, they were to inform him on the spot.

The necessary piece of information came from Gloria, of all people. She had spent her day off in a transgender bar, looking to get laid, when there was a quarrel outside on the street. Some guys had apparently taken to beating a guy in a really short skirt. From the whispers Gloria had found out that one of the men had tried to hit on him, and had totally freaked out upon discovering the sexy lady had a penis. Just as Gloria had decided she was strong enough to take on at least the tallest of the attackers, some blond angel (Jim couldn't help but grin at the phrasing) had shuffled around the corner. In the matter of seconds he had gotten in-between and dealt some serious blows to the ring leader. Gloria had trashed the other one, and attacker three and four ran away. Then the blond angel had looked after the victim.

"And why are you so sure this 'blond angel' is Sebastian Moran?" Jim had asked.

"Because I observe, Jim. This guy, and let me tell you, he was so good-looking I actually thought of offering him free service… So strong, and bold, and sweaty…"

"Gloria…"

"Because the guy looked like Sorcha. So much it's unreal. It must have been her brother."

Jim sighed, "That's indeed true. Well, I guess that gives us at least a hint as to where he is. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Well, he smelled of alcohol, and he looked kinda… unruly. You know, hair and a beard. If the Hammersmith plans on staging the Nibelungs one day, he would be the perfect Siegfried. Oh, and he wore dog tags."

Jim rolled his eyes. He remembered women fawned over Sebastian, but Gloria must have been the first man to get all excited over him. But it gave him a first lead to where he could find Sebastian. And because he knew the city better than anyone, he decided he would go look for him.

* * *

It took him three nights, but finally, he found Sebastian Moran in an alley close to Piccadilly. The man was sitting against the wall, beer bottle cradled in his hand, humming along to what Jim recognized as being _The Fields of Athenry. _

"Very dramatic, Sebastian." And, although it was clear that this wasn't Sebastian's first beer this night, the speed with which he jumped this feet, had broken the bottle on the wall and held it in front of him, ready to attack, was admirable. "Easy there, Seb. I'm not here to attack you."

Sebastian tilted his head, "Jim? Jim Moriarty?"

Jim smiled, "Indeed. It's been quite a while. Nice stunt you pulled in Afghanistan. I saw the pictures."

Sebastian's face hardened, "Here to make fun of me? Well, I would love to give you a personal demonstration of my skills. Posh fucker."

"I'm not here to make fun of you, Sebastian. I'm here because I was worried."

"Why would you be fucking worried about me?"

"Old times' sake?"

Sebastian let out a laugh, "How very nostalgic. Go fuck yourself and leave me alone."

Jim rolled his eyes, and then asked, "Did the Taliban ever told you who called just before you got set free?"

"I..." Sebastian dropped the bottle, "I never told anyone about the call…"

"I know."

"How the fuck do you know… Was it you that called?"

"Don't be silly. I negotiated with someone who then called."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted you out of there. For all you and your family have done for me, it was the least I could do. By the way, Sorcha doesn't know that, and I would be happy if she doesn't find out."

"Sorcha? Where is she?"

"She works for me now. My… lieutenant, maybe. She is fine, but worried sick about you. I want you to come with me so she can see that you're okay."

"I don't want her to see me like this."

"She doesn't have to. I'm sure you have some talents that would be rather valuable for my business."

Sebastian let his eyes wander over Jim, "Really? Yeah, I can count to twelve, if that's what you mean. That's how many of those fuckers I disembowelled."

"Why would I need you to count?"

"With that suit, you surely work in a bank or politics. That how you knew whom to call to get me free?"

"Not really, no. I went to see some Afghan recruiter here in London. He's dead now. I shot him."

Sebastian tilted his head, "That supposed to impress me? Well, which one of my talents do you need, then?"

"I could use a sniper every now and then. You're any good at that?" Jim knew of course. Sebastian Moran was known to be one of the best snipers of the world. Jim had done his research, and he wanted Sebastian. He wanted him on his team.

"I'm the fucking best, you moron. But what do you need a sniper for? What is it you do?"

"I solve people's problems. And some of those problems require the steady hand of somebody who isn't afraid to spill blood. I pay well. You'd have a flat, your own stash of any gun you could possibly need. Some real clothes. Anything you want. Unless you fuck with me, of course. Then I would be forced to slit your throat."

"Like you could do that…" But Sebastian couldn't deny he was interested. "What's the downside of this deal?"

"That if I get caught, you'll hang with me. But then again, you'll hang anyways, so… I would really like this to work, Sebastian. I still feel like I owe you. You were the one who found my mother. You went there, even though you knew Brook could be there and would most probably…"

"You save me from being trashed by Powers and his gang. You know how doctors were worried about my eyes? I wouldn't have become the sniper I am without you. If anything, I owe you, Jim." Sebastian straightened his back. "I'll take the job."

Jim smiled, "Brilliant. Thank you, Sebastian."

"You're welcome, Jim."

* * *

They walked to Jim's flat. Not many people were out at that time of the night, yet, Sebastian kept his head lowered, "Do you really think nobody is going to recognize me?"

"And if, they won't dare to call police when you're with me."

"Okay, I believe you… So, you and Sorcha?"

"No, nothing me and Sorcha."

"Good, because I will still break your neck if you hurt her again."

"Don't overestimate yourself, Sebastian. The time where people could beat the shit out of me is long gone."

"You walk here without bodyguards."

"What would I need one for when nobody dares to touch me..." He had barely finished the sentence when it happened.

* * *

**Uh, cliffhanger. Just letting you know that I'll go on holidays pretty soon.**


	20. All my life

**Disclaimer: see Prologue**

**Title: Taken from _Time to burn _by The Rasmus**

* * *

**Chapter 19: All my life I was standing on the borderline**

She appeared out of nowhere, screaming, gun in her hands. The shot rang through the air. Jim swayed, then clutched his hand to the wound in his shoulder and looked at the attacker, "Cinzia…"

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!" She cocked the gun again and aimed at Jim's head.

But Sebastian was faster. He lunged himself at her and broke her wrist with one hand only so she had to drop the gun. Then he wrestled her to her knees before he laid his hands on both sides of her head and snapped her neck in two before she could utter another word. Her body fell down on the ground.

Jim dropped to his knees next to her, blood oozing through his fingers, "Fuck… that…"

Sebastian was at his side in an instant, "Listen, Jim, you got a mobile phone on you? I need to call an ambulance."

Jim hissed through clenched teeth, "No… You can't… there's the risk they'll report a… gunshot wound to the police…"

"Okay. That's true. Listen, hold on. Don't go into shock. It'll be alright." Sebastian's instinct had kicked in the very instant he had heard the gunshot. He slid his hands into Jim's pocket and brought out his mobile. With steady fingers, he accessed the phone book and scrolled down to "S". He dialled.

"Jim, what do you want?"

"It's me."

"Bastian…" Sorcha swallowed. "I never thought…"

"Listen, we don't have much time. Jim's been shot."

"What?"

"Yeah, some girl shot him. Shoulder wound. Listen, do you have an emergency plan for things like this?"

"Yes. Yes, we do have one. Bring him to his flat." She gave him the address. "I'll take care of the rest."

"Good. And don't freak out now, there's time for that later."

* * *

He brought Jim home and placed him on the couch, then prepared a bowl with boiling water and clean towels. Jim was still awake, although dizzy and pale. "Talk to me, Jim. What's your emergency plan?"

Jim let his eyes rest on the clock on the wall and murmured with a weak voice, "Ten minutes… She'll come soon. With a doctor…"

"So, you do have your own doctor? Do you get shot often?" Sebastian proceeded to take off Jim's suit jacket

"Don't… be… silly…" Jim closed his eyes in pain. "She'll need to… find one…"

"Okay, so you're going to kidnap one." He unbuttoned the shirt and cautiously freed Jim from the fabric.

"Yes… The wound… what does it look like?"

Sebastian drenched one of the towels in the boiling water and wiped the blood away, "I've seen worse. But then again, I saw soldiers who had their eyes hanging out of their sockets."

"Very funny…" Jim actually managed a chuckle. "Is the bullet still inside?"

"Yah. Don't worry, that's what we have doctors for… I think I can hear them coming…."And really, the door opened and a second later, Sorcha entered, the gun in her hand which she pointed at the head of a sobbing woman. "Here, there they are, now everything is going to be alright."

Sorcha shoved the woman down next to the couch. "Come on, woman, you know this is your life on the line." She leaned in and hissed,"I know where you live; I can go there and shoot all your loved ones. So you better do a good job."

"Who is she?" Sebastian asked.

"Dr. Shoshanna Harper. Surgeon." Sorcha murmured. "What are you waiting for, Dr Harper, go ahead."

"Wait." Sebastian had enough experience to know that this was going to be very unpleasant for both Jim and any onlooker. So he walked over to his sister and took the gun out of her hand. "I'll take care of this. You go and… I don't know, rob a chemist's or something. He's going to need lots of painkillers over the next few weeks. Trust me."

"Seb…"

"Go, Sorcha. I'll be here, watching them. If she so much as hurts him, I will rip her hair out and feed it to her before I shoot her." He pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her hair. "Now go and get those painkillers and some beer." She nodded and left. "And doctor, I wasn't kidding with what I said, so you better be careful."

"It would work better if my hands weren't shaking thanks to your threats…" She took a deep breath. "Now go and get me more water, a pocket knife, a needle and thread and something to disinfect. stronger than beer."

"Yes, my _Führer_." Sebastian murmured.

* * *

She worked fast. Within half an hour, she had extracted the bullet from the wound, and stitched it. Sebastian was happy though that he had sent Sorcha away; Jim's screams were almost unbearable. Sebastian actually had to pin him down for all the thrashing. He didn't know whether it was the trembling hands of the doctor, or if she did it on purpose, but she caused way more pain to him than the military doctors in Afghanistan would have. He tried not to look at her, but he couldn't help that his eyes contained the unveiled promise of death whenever they locked with the doctor's. But finally, she cut the thread and dressed the wound. Now Jim was curled up on the couch, shaking and sweating.

Shoshanna Harper cleaned her hands, "He'll need to rest. You can pull the stitches yourself if you see the wound has closed. Now, I tried my best, but there will be a scar. However, with your business, I doubt it's his first. I hope there won't be an infection, but there might be fever. You need to bring him to hospital if he starts getting hot, or if the wound starts to suppurate."

Sebastian nodded, "Thank you."

"Yeah, you're welcome."

Sebastian shot her right between the eyes.

"Seb, the carpet…" Jim murmured tiredly. His voice was hoarse from all the screaming.

"Shut up, you moron. I killed two women tonight because of you, I don't give a shit about your carpet. How do you feel?"

"In pain… Am I pulling through? Somebody screamed so loud I couldn't hear the doctor talking…"

Sebastian couldn't help but smile, "You'll be alright. Nothing vital hit. But we need to keep that wound clean, and you lost a lot of blood. So you better go to sleep now. Don't worry; I've seen this lots of times. You're in the best of hands. Now, you close your eyes and take a nap while I dispose of Mrs Harper here."

Jim only could nod as his eyes fluttered shut.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Jim was sound asleep, Sorcha came back with a plastic bag full of what looked like every single pill in the whole of the U.K. Sebastian grinned, "How many chemists did you rob?"

"Don't be silly. Jim owns the fucking drug business; I went to see his dealers. If it ever comes up, you got shot, not him." She dropped the bag and knelt down next to the couch. "How was it?"

"Brutal, but he'll pull through. The bullet missed absolutely everything vital. Seems like the little snot's got a deal with God."

"More like a deal with the devil if you ask me. What did you do with the body?"

"She's currently lying in the kitchen. I'll chop her later. Anybody see you when you kidnapped her?" As she shook her head, he said, "Good. So no witnesses to kill. You should go to sleep now, too. He won't wake up anytime soon with his blood loss."

"But he'll pull through?"

"Yes, Sorcha, he will. Now go to bed." He sighed, "You know we're hip-deep in trouble if we're going to stay with him?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Just wanted to make sure you do. Come on, get up." He pulled her arm and brought her into a standing position. "You can have his bed, but please, do me a favour and don't spend the night sniffing his pillows."

"Fuck you." But she smiled, "It's so good to have you back here, Bastian. I was worried sick about you."

"Well, I'm glad you were, because otherwise, I wouldn't have gotten this fantastic job."

"So you enjoy it already?"

"Hell, yeah."


	21. I can feel the devil walking next to me

**The last chapter. But there's gonna be an epilogue. I'll prolly post that later today.**

**Disclaimer: see Prologue**

**Title: taken from Murray Head's _One Night in Bangkok._**

* * *

**Chapter 20: I can feel the devil walking next to me**

Jim healed fast, considering the damage. For a week he was lying on the couch, gaining his strength back, relying on the pills only when the pain got impossible to bear. After a week, he got up for the first time, and another week later, he was already back to his old self, plotting and scheming.

Only at nights, when he was alone in his flat, he was thinking. That had been pretty close. If Cinzia had been a better shot, he would be dead now. He needed protection. Somehow it hurt him to admit to it, but then again, he also felt a certain pride. He had come so far… So he did the most sensible thing he could think of. He gave Sebastian the guest-bedroom in his flat and appointed him, for the time he was there, as his bodyguard. Sebastian didn't seem to mind working that close to Jim and having to sacrifice his life should the need arise.

The next thing Jim did was sending Sorcha to the shooting range. Sebastian was a brilliant shot, even at close range, but Sorcha needed practise. Jim wasn't sure she would have managed to kill Shoshanna Harper, even with the gun against the woman's temple.

And then Jim decided to test Sebastian's abilities on the rifle. And he knew just the right person to play the target. _Frank. _Frank, his first client. The man who had so viciously taken his virginity, had forced himself onto him, into him, who had abused him even when he was out. Frank would make a nice target for Sebastian. And then there was Patrick. He left Patrick to Sorcha. He was actually curious to know if she could really kill. So he sent them to Dublin. Both got back the same evening, with the scalps of their victims in their hands. Jim couldn't quite hide his pride. Finally he had two killers in his rows. No need to get his own hands dirty anymore: he could hide in the background, pull the strings, and enjoy the advantages of being the big boss.

* * *

Yet, there was one thing left that had to be done, and Jim would do it with his own hands. Simon Milverton. Charlie Milverton's brother. The one that had taken the pictures. He would die. And it would be by Jim's hand. Yes, Jim was somehow thankful that it had happened the way it did, because, lord, Sebastian was a fucking god behind the scope of a sniper rifle. Yet, Jim had to make a stand: if word got out he had lost against Charlie Milverton, it would considerably damage his reputation, even more so if he just appeared to accept the defeat. So, he would need to strike back. He could of course just go and off Charlie, but he was just the pawn in the game, and Jim was done dealing with pawns. He wanted to strike where it hurt. He would hurt Charlie Milverton by killing his brother. And the most perfect occasion proved to be Christmas.

Simon Milverton got official leave for Christmas because of his loyal service (read, because he discovered the wrongdoings of Colonel Moran) and had decided to spend it in London with his family. Jim's contact in the military let him know the exact time and date of when Milverton would land at Heathrow. Jim sent Anya, one of his most charming girls. She chatted him up casually, and Simon was just as much a lady's man than his brother. So they went for drinks, which Anya spiked with a healthy dose of roofies. Then Jim got him transported to a warehouse where he had him wrapped up like a present, before he sent his men away, sat down, and waited.

Milverton woke up about two hours later. He moaned, but was immediately alert (as alert as you could be) when he noticed he was bound and lying on the ground. "What the…"

"I wouldn't trash around if I were you. No one's gonna hear you anyways."

"Who are you?" Simon moaned.

"I am Jim Moriarty. By the way, Sebastian Moran sends his love."

Simon grinned, "Moran? Still alive he is, then?"

"More alive than ever, I guess." Jim got up from his chair and walked over to Simon. "And he will throw a party once I tell him that you're no longer walking the face of the earth. Now, Simon, I wouldn't be that angry if you had just gone to your supervisor and told him what Sebbie did. That's what the good people do. But you, however, you blackmailed somebody, and that I cannot accept."

"Fuck off. He didn't deserve any better."

"See, that's what I mean. Your brother took it one step too far by trying to blackmail Sebbie's sister."

"Oh, this is what it's all about?" He chuckled. "My little baby brother just likes women; nothing wrong with that."

"That's what you say. Blackmailing a woman into having sex with you is really not okay. However, I will let him live. Just because I find that it's much more rewarding killing the one who started all this. That was you, by the way. And then, maybe later, when I'm bored, I'll go to Charlie and kill him, too. But now, it's your turn." Jim smiled, "And I will make it worth your while." He ran his finger over the chain that held Simon's dog tags. "That feels good, really. Maybe I should ask Sebastian for his; he'll get a new pair soon. What do you think?"

"Don't touch them. You aren't man enough to be one of us."

Jim tilted his head, "You're about to die, and you're still talking big. Aw, well. I'll guess I'll better get to work then. Now, I picked this warehouse for a very good reason. Nobody ever comes here. Nobody lives close by. Nobody will hear you. With the way you're chained to that wall, you won't be able to free yourself. You will starve to death here. Now, Bobby Sands died after sixty-six days. That's quite a long time. And I hear it's ugly. Oh no." He shook his head sadly. And then he smiled, "But I am not a monster, Simon dear. So, I will let you choose. You either starve. Or I will cut out your tongue and let you bleed to death here. Then I will take your body and put it on show for everyone. That will teach them not to cross James Moriarty. Of course I might choose to display it right in your parents' garden."

"Please don't."

"Begging won't get you anywhere. Your brother didn't react to my begging, either. It's either or. And the longer you think…" Jim made a step towards the door.

"No, wait, stop! Please, what can I do to…"

"Nothing, Simon. There is nothing you can do. You will die. Either tonight or in… about sixty-six days. That's two months. A long time when you have nothing to eat." Jim made another step to the door.

"Okay, wait…" Simon was calm and collected. "I chose today."

Jim shook his head, "Shame. I would have loved to think of you as a brave man. You know, Sebastian would have chosen to starve, just so I wouldn't taunt his grieving family with his mutilated body. But I guess that's where you can tell the real from the fake." He knelt down in front of Milverton. "Well, I guess that's that, then. Any last words? While you can still talk?" Milverton spit into Jim's face. Jim didn't even flinch. "What a waste. Now, say 'ahhhhh' for me, please." Milverton gave him one last look, but then opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out.

* * *

Jim called his people to get rid of the body. He had decided to go with the original plan and dump the body at Charlie Milverton's doorstep. Nice and simple.

When he opened the door to his flat, Sebastian was sprawled out on the couch, reading a book, while Sorcha was typing away on her computer.

Both looked up when he entered the room, and Sorcha immediately dashed at his side, "Oh my God, Jim, what happened to you? Are you okay?"

Jim looked down at himself. His whole suit was drenched in blood. His hands were stained too, and he knew he had touched his face at some point, so there sure was blood on it, too. No wonder Sorcha was totally freaking out. He laid his arm around her, "Don't worry, I'm fine. Not my blood."

"Okay, then stop smearing it on me, please…" She tried to shove him away.

He held her close with a slight smirk on his face, "Stay here. I got something for you."

"Do I really want it?" She frowned.

"Yeah. Guess, which pocket?"

"Left one."

"Won't you check?"

"I am seeing all of this, James." Sebastian murmured.

Jim grinned, "Okay, okay. No games." He reached into his pocket and brought a pair of dog tags out. They were perfect, shiny, except for the blood drops on them. "Here. With love."

Sorcha took them out of his hands and checked, "Jim…" He nodded. "Oh my God."

"What is it? These are hardly engagement dog tags, so why all the fuzz? Silly girl." Sebastian rolled his eyes

"I'm not silly." She tossed the dog tags over to Sebastian.

He checked the name on them and startled, "No… You didn't…"

"I did."

Sebastian's fingers clenched around them. "How?

"Cut his tongue. I dumped him on the stairs to his brother's flat, if you hurry up, you might get a last loo…" Seb was already out of the door and slammed it shut. "I think he liked my pressie."

"I don't think he was that happy when my mam bought him _Donkey Kong Country Part Three…_"

"Now imagine what he will say when he comes back and I give him the tongue…"

"Jim?"

"Don't worry, I'm just kidding. Maybe." He let his eyes wander over Sorcha. "I told you it's a bad idea to wear white on the job."

"Bloody moron, it's my day off."

Jim tilted his head, "What did you just call me? I think it's time I show you who's the boss here. Since your brother is out now and surely won't be returning any time soon…" He leaned in, "What do you say?"

"I say you're completely sick."

"Come on, Moran, if I was a soldier returning from a battle you'd clean me up, too. Just imagine I was fighting some English King who tried to take over my village and rape all the women. Actually, you should be very grateful."

"I am, believe me." She gave a peck to his cheek. "That was a very sweet thing you did there for Sebastian. What can I do then to show you how thankful I am?"

"Don't worry. I'll show you."

* * *

**Fluff. Well, this is it, then. Apart from the epilogue.**


	22. Meet me at the top, getting lonely

**And there you go. Last one. **

**Disclaimer: see Prologue**

**Title: taken from Rihanna's _Hard_**

* * *

**Epilogue: Meet me at the top, getting lonely**

_Eight years later_

Jim stood on his balcony and observed the city at his feet. Sebastian was currently on a job, offing some paedophile that had gotten off because the child was too scared to testify against him. The parents had called him, and Jim had of course promised to fix it. Sorcha was at work. He couldn't help but admire her. Not only did she have a regular job now, she was still organizing most of his stuff. He couldn't remember a night where she had slept more than five hours. He actually had to force her to take days off once in a while. Her job was too important; he couldn't risk her doing bad because she was too tired. Because he had her right where a good man was needed; the government. With her law degree, she had become one of the consultants that bended the laws if one of the government people got caught in a rather sticky situation, the one that dealt with the press when some rather unfortunate details of some soldier's behaviour came to light. The irony was that it had been Sebastian Moran and his actions in Afghanistan that had led to the necessity of somebody who could deal with the press and had the necessary knowledge to assess the damage that had been done and to clean it up. Basically Sorcha did the same she did for Jim, cleaning up mess and keeping questions at bay. Of course, nobody knew her true identity: the name Moran was still a red rag to everybody in England. So Jim had to create a whole new identity for her. Jenny Miller. She wore blue contacts and her hair a dark shade of brown so that nobody could possible notice the resemblance between her and her notorious brother. Of course, in the end, she was only a better secretary, and no way would she come close enough to Mycroft Holmes, but she had valuable insider knowledge, red-hot information and, which was the most important thing, access to all the cameras in the city.

Jim breathed in. Mycroft Holmes. A brilliant man, with just as much power as Jim had. And his little brother, "Consulting Detective". Jim remembered him, of course. The kid that had bumped into him moments after he had stolen Carl Powers's shoes. The kid that had been pestering the police about the whereabouts of said shoes. Now he was solving problems too, for the police, although he was for hire by average people as well. Unfortunately for Jim, he messed up quite a bit of his work. He had to disappear.

But Jim was hesitant about just ordering Sebastian to put a bullet into that brain. Mainly because the brain was brilliant. Jim, in disguise, had watched him work, and he was nothing short of a fucking genius. Finally somebody who could match him.

Because Jim was getting bored. All these people with all their stupid problems… Cheating wives and the like, it was just not enough. He needed something new, something to get his mind off this boring crap he had to deal with. The stupid people brought in the money, but not the satisfaction. Now, Sherlock Holmes promised to be something different. Somethingbetter. Of course he would continue to solve problems for the dim-witted people. But he would also observe Sherlock Holmes. Would give Sherlock Holmes some extra work.

The door opened, and Sorcha got in, "Jim. I think I found the right person for the job."

Let the Game begin.

* * *

**I wanna thank to the few of you who have reviewed. You made my day.**

**I have another story in progress. Not sure if I will upload it here or on AO3. Depends probably on how much you guys want to read it. But of course I will inform those that have reviewed once I upload it. **

**Much love and peace.**

**Ferg**


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